madest thou look— so endeth the trick
by Flashing The Floods
Summary: Everything is a tally here, the world is carnivorous and the walls are just as much a punishment as a safe haven. Nathaniel/Lysander slash. Shingeki no Kyojin AU. Very crappy. Everything is crap. Except Kiki, Kiki's a titan. But everything else is crap.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This started out as a thing I was writing for owldistraction, but then it turned into an AU, so Imma just have to write something else for her. I'm really AU lately, aren't I? Geh. Probably cause it makes it easier for the gore. Gore and gorn are like the best things ever and whatnot. Anyhow, this sucks. It's as crappy as hell, disjointed as always, and totally recycled and just like a piece of ugly shit and whatnot. But perhaps it is minutely less crappy than what I normally write. Because it was written whilst I was listening to Battlestar Galactica music, and like, the influence of such majestic tunes has got to improve something or other. **

**Legit, Battlestar Galactica music is amazing. Well, Battlestar Galactica is amazing anyway, but yeah. That music. Some liberties and slight universe-bending just for the sake of...Well, for something. I don't remember what. So let's say cylons. Slight liberties regarding how the SnK universe works for the sake of cylons. But there are no cylons in this fic. Do not expect to see cylons. **

**Maybe next time. But maybe not. I'm a cylon, so I lie. There's some implied Kim/Violette, Leigh/Rosalya, and maybe possibly perhaps Castiel/Melody if you tilt your head, squint, look with a powerful magnifying glass and borrow Doxy's goggles. And yes, the title of this is from that GEICO commercial...I promise, I'm retiring my fanfic occupation soon e_e'**

**Edit: I just realized it was owldistraction who gave me the idea for this. Cause like, I said something about a potato, so she said I reminded her of Sasha in the same conversation in which we were discussing Nate/Lys. So yeah. Thanks for the inspiration, dude X3 **

* * *

Nathaniel sees a titan for the first time on the day he loses everything. The two events are not unrelated. One moment everything is normal (normal and not _fine_, because things were never ever _fine_, not like this) and relatively mundane, and the next moment Wall Tijie has a gaping wound and titans are running rampant through everything and everyone.

Bloodcurdling screams rip through the air in tune with the thuds of giant footfalls. Pillars of wood and brick crumble to the ground. Nathaniel's breath catches in his throat, golden eyes expanding in a brand of terror as cold as the arctic the Walls have prevented him from ever seeing. For one moment there is no coherent thought, just a wordless realization as deep as instinct.

It's Amber's crooked yelp that breaks him out of it. Nathaniel snatches her hand and pelts for the mass of others trying to evacuate. "We have to go!"

"What about Mom and Dad!?" she wails.

"They're probably dead!" Because even at eleven, Nathaniel is not naïve. He is not naïve and he is not an idealist either.

"No!" With a birdlike shriek, she wrenches free from him and races back toward their undoubtably ruined home.

"Amber!" Nathaniel breaks away from the silver of hope for survival and chases after her into the thick of the chaos like the responsible big brother he's trying to be, for once in their young lives. He almost reaches her.

Almost.

A titan's grubby hand seizes her in mid-stride. Nathaniel can hear the sickening crunch as her spine snaps in its tightening fist. The titan then simply pops her in its mouth and her shrill scream is swallowed concomitantly with her body.

Nathaniel screams too, and it's his scream that gets him noticed by a slightly older boy, shepherding his own silver-headed brother. He veers out of the scrambling masses to take Nathaniel by the wrist and yank him into the fleeing crowd. Nathaniel's head is numb but his feet know what to do, they know to charge with the crowd toward the gate that hopefully someone had the mercy to open. The boy lets him go, and it'll be a few years before Nathaniel sees him again and by then, he won't really remember him anyway.

.

It's inevitable that Nathaniel enlists in the military. He can't stagnate in Black District forever, and anyhow, he wants to fight. He doesn't have anything left to do, really.

.

On the very first day of training, he meets Lysander.

It's evening and Nathaniel sits quietly at one of the many tables, poking his mushy dinner with a fork as his tired muscles complain in twitches and soundless groans. Nathaniel noted when changing that the 3D gear itself left fallow impressions in his skin. Physically lunging around and mastering it was bound to be a joy. Not that Nathaniel minds it, no, not really. He likes the pain in an odd sort of way.

It feels like a step toward accomplishment.

Someone takes a seat next to him. Nathaniel glances to him, recalling glimpsing him earlier when the instructor was explaining how the gear worked. He's different looking in a way Nathaniel supposes is good. Wavy silver hair longer on one side than the other and touched in coal, heterochromic jonquil and shamrock irises, leanly compact frame.

"Hi," he says and offers Nathaniel a subtle kind of smile.

"Hi."

"I hate to bother you while you're eating, but have you seen a notebook anywhere? Blue cover?"

"I haven't," says Nathaniel honestly. "Sorry."

"It's alright. I'm sure it's bound to turn up soon. I just had it an hour ago, so it couldn't have gone far. I'm Lysander, by the way."

So he isn't just looking for his notebook, he's starting a conversation. Nathaniel wouldn't really describe himself as shy, but...Talking to people is just one of those things he doesn't care to do much anymore. Though it any case, it can't hurt to make friends now (actually it can, he knows in the back of his mind, because it's more likely than not the friend you make is going to get eaten by a titan and your friendship will end in bitter, helpless tears). It will probably be beneficial, given that they'll be training together for awhile.

"I'm Nathaniel."

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Lysander puts down his spoon and offers his hand like a gentleman. Nathaniel shakes it wearily.

"Likewise," he mumbles courteously.

"I found your notebook," a third voice cuts in and Nathaniel glances up to see a guy with somewhat mussed black hair holding out said notebook to Lysander. "Or rather, Rosalya did. It was outside."

"Ah, thank you." Lysander takes it and then leans back a little, gesturing between him and Nathaniel. "Leigh, Nathaniel. Nathaniel, Leigh. My brother."

Nathaniel drops his spoon as a bolt of grief pierces his chest. He used to be someone's brother too. "A pleasure," he manages, though he feels like a cat with a fish bone stuck in his throat.

.

Nathaniel doesn't really sleep the best. One would figure that the vigorous effort training takes would wear him down enough to let him sleep, but it doesn't. He closes his lids and finds titans and destroyed walls under them. He hates himself for that, really. Nightmares are a childish affair. He shouldn't have them at all, let alone so frequently. It's pathetic. But hating himself for it doesn't change it.

Sometimes he wakes up sweating or screaming or both. Not as much as he used to, but occasionally. It's rather humiliating when it does happen now, given the shared quarters. However, most of the others stay silent about it.

Most.

"Will you quit freaking out over there?" snaps an agitated voice one night, when Nathaniel's woken up to his own scream. It's Castiel of course, that loathsome cocky bastard from the Black District. "Some of us are actually trying to sleep."

Nathaniel can't stand him. He doesn't even dignify him with a response. Castiel sits up on the other side of the barracks and throw his pillow at him. He has great accuracy even in the dark and hits Nathaniel square in the head. Nathaniel locks his jaw and resists the urge to find something heavier to throw, instead fixing his hair and stacking the additional pillow atop his own.

"I'm not giving that back," Nathaniel hisses. His eyes have adjusted to the dim moonlight and he glares accordingly.

"The hell you aren't," Castiel spits, audibly flustered with himself for making the mistake of using it as a weapon. "I'll go over and—"

"Honestly," Lysander cuts in irritably from some bunk in between them. "You two are ridiculous. Nathaniel, give him back the pillow. Castiel, leave him alone. As established, people are trying to sleep."

Nathaniel takes the initiative and gives the pillow back, albeit chucking it with more force than needed. Castiel grumbles but leaves things at that. If it were anybody else who told him off, he probably wouldn't, but Nathaniel's noticed that Castiel acts like less of a jerk to Lysander than anyone else. They seem to be friends, really.

"I'm sorry we woke you," Nathaniel breathes.

"You didn't," Lysander murmurs so quietly Nathaniel almost doesn't catch it. He gets up and treads to the door, exiting almost soundlessly. After a moment, Nathaniel follows him. He doesn't know why. Maybe because he can't go back to sleep and there's nothing else to do. Lysander sits on the steps and doesn't glance over when he approaches and sits next to him.

"The stars are beautiful, aren't they?"

"Beautiful," Nathaniel repeats, testing it on his tongue. He hasn't described anything as beautiful in awhile. They don't live in a world where things are beautiful. Or if they do, they're too caught up in trying to stop what isn't beautiful to notice. But he follows Lysander's gaze up to the dazzling sliver specks in the limitless black and finds he agrees.

"I was there too," Lysander says next. "When the Wall fell. I know what the ghosts feel like."

Nathaniel...Isn't tremendously surprised to hear this. He gently pats Lysander on the back, and it probably communicates more volumes than his words could. If he had any, that is. He doesn't. Lysander must not either.

They spend the majority of the rest of the night like that, side by side and silent.

.

"Would you spar with me?" Lysander asks the next day in the yard.

Nathaniel isn't sure why they're supposed to learn hand-to-hand combat in the first place. It's not as if they're going to fight titans like that. He supposes it might be that it hones their reflexes and builds muscle. Or it could be for those who plan on joining the Military Police. Frankly, even though they're supposed to be the best at fighting titans, those in the Military Police are far more likely to be fighting other humans. It's a corrupted system and an even more corrupted branch.

Nonetheless, Nathaniel spares a brief smile and says, "Sure."

He rolls his shoulders and readies himself, but is still surprised at the ferocity in which Lysander lunges and swings the wooden dagger right at his throat. He has such a gentle demeanor, after all. Despite his initial misjudgment, Nathaniel manages to reel back and avoid him, slamming the heel of his hand to Lysander's shoulder. Lysander winces but maintains balance, and spins to very nearly crack Nathaniel right in the face.

Nathaniel aims to punch him under the ribs, but Lysander swiftly drops and knocks Nathaniel off his feet with a fluid, sweeping kick. Nathaniel hits the ground harshly, a pained grunt pushed out of his lungs. He gets his bearings before Lysander can pin him and rolls, shifting weight onto his elbows as he hooks his heel around Lysander's ankle. Lysander gasps sharply as his back hits the dirt and Nathaniel scrambles up, springing atop him and straddling his waist.

He pushes the blunt end of the wooden blade to the blue vein in Lysander's throat. It occurs to Nathaniel then that he likes this. He likes being on top of Lysander and seeing him pant, taut and sweaty beneath him. Except he'd like it more if he'd lose the knife and Lysander'd lose his clothes.

"Sorry," Nathaniel apologizes, though it's not as if Lysander can read his mind.

"Oh no," Lysander chuckles breathlessly. "Don't be sorry. It's sparring for a reason. I'd be insulted if you were to hold back on me."

"You're good," Nathaniel compliments earnestly as he climbs off and extends his hand. He can feel the burn of a blush in his cheeks and strenuously hopes Lysander doesn't notice it. "Very agile. I won this round on luck."

Lysander accepts his outstretched hand and smiles as Nathaniel pulls him to his feet. "Thank you, but I do believe you have more than luck on your side."

"Maybe experience too," Nathaniel admits and doesn't let go of his hand right away.

Lysander doesn't seem to mind the prolonged contact. "I'm up for a second round if you are."

Nathaniel's wholeheartedly happy for the first time in...Well, for the first time, really. "You're on."

.

He and Lysander sit outside together just about every night. Except now they do it before even trying to sleep, and it works out a lot better that way. They stay out for as long as it takes until they're falling asleep without forcing it, and then they go back inside. It doesn't eradicate the nightmares, but it significantly reduces them.

They were silent the first night, but usually they talk now. Not always, sometimes they don't even have to, but usually.

"Why did you enlist?" Nathaniel asks one night.

"Leigh wanted to. I've already lost everyone else, I can't leave him."

"So you don't want to be here?"

Lysander gives a thoughtful hum. "I do," he murmurs tentatively. "I just didn't realize it at first."

Nathaniel nods, understanding well enough.

"Why did you enlist?"

"I didn't know what else to do. Besides, I want to kill titans."

"Then I assume you're either going into the Survey Corps or the Garrison?" Lysander gave a slight tilt of the head.

"Survey Corps." Nathaniel nods.

"Me too."

"Your brother is joining the Survey Corps?" Nathaniel guesses, feeling a twinge of discomfort.

"I don't do everything for him," Lysander breathes. "But yes."

"You should talk him out of it and both join the Military Police," Nathaniel declares and glances away. "I'm sure you'll both rank in the top ten. I've seen your skills." And he'd _felt_ them too, in Lysander's case. He has bruises to prove it.

Lysander narrows his eyes. "The Military Police Brigade abuse their authority and misuse their position. They grow complacent with themselves because they scarcely ever glimpse titans, let alone fight them. I'm not going to be apart of such an atrocity." He's raised just tone just a bit, lost some of the warmth.

"I'm sorry," Nathaniel sighs and looks back to him, looks him in the eye. "It was a selfish suggestion, that's all. I like you. I don't want you to die."

Lysander's features soften and he dips his head. "I like you too."

.

"My cuts are still deeper than yours," taunts Castiel in mid-zip, grinning smugly as he pistons away and slashes open another faux titan's neck, straw and stuffing spilling.

"I'm just warming up," Nathaniel snarls in annoyance. He releases his grapple-hooks and rapidly aims for another bark pillar, swiping another slash into the same practice neck. It's only just shallower, but a millimeter is enough for Nathaniel to curse. He passes Castiel up to compensate for it, and reaches the next false nape first.

"Hey! Asshole!" He's unprepared and almost loses his precarious balance, gear wires hissing as they're prematurely torn free.

"You should've seen it coming!" Nathaniel all but laughs, smoothly striking another practice neck.

"Will you two quit your pissing match, already?" Kim grunts as she speeds forward and fluidly maneuvers between them. She's always had a natural affinity for this and Nathaniel hasn't seen her make a mistake once. "It's giving me a headache!"

"Oh, Kim," Violette chirps nervously from further behind. Violette is someone Nathaniel has immense trouble believing could ever kill a titan. She's quiet in a hesitant way, not a stoic one, and she's really daydreamy. Nathaniel can't ever recall seeing her without Kim, either. "It's healthy to have competition."

Nathaniel wouldn't exactly call what he and Castiel has competition. Just as he's thinking this he sees Castiel's catching up with him and immediately reshoots his hooks and makes a demonstration out of a quick, clean slice.

Nope. Not competitive at all.

"My cuts are _still_ deeper," Castiel echoes proudly.

"But mine are still deep enough to kill and I'm faster than you, so I'd still slay more titans." Nathaniel punctuates the assessment with another successful stroke of the blade.

"Pfft," Kim scoffs. "You're both amateurs. You wanna see speed? You wanna see deep cuts? Watch and learn, boys!" She snickers and then all of a sudden she's overtaking Nathaniel, spiraling in a blur of sepia and beige and flashing silver. She decimates the next practice neck and comes out of her form in a solid lunge, firing her hooks into the platform before her and unzipping the next faux titan's nape before they even dig in.

Nathaniel's jaw drops. He knew Kim was good. Hell, he even suspected her to be better than him, but _this_ good? He never imagined. She's amazing!

Her display shuts him up right away. Castiel too.

"Sorry," Violette giggles softly, a touch of fondness in her tone. "She's like that sometimes."

But at the end of the course, Castiel does something that pisses him off more than his attitude ever did. He helps Lysander out of his gear.

"I must've cinched a strap wrong, or something," Lysander sighs in all his oblivious frustration.

"Yeah," Castiel informs him with a trifling smirk. "Your harness is crossing the wrong way on your back." And he actually touches Lysander's back in the midst of correcting it, and vines of envy replace Nathaniel's veins. "Damn, Lysander. You're the only person I know who can still forget how to put this on right when you've been doing it for months."

"I was going to write it down, but I forgot that too." And then Lysander catches Nathaniel watching out of the corner of his eye. He meets his gaze, but Nathaniel simply turns away and stalks off before he can get caught blushing.

Dinner is when Lysander catches up to Nathaniel, mouth in an uncertain line and eyes wavering. "Hi."

"Hi."

"Did I do something to upset you?" he asks quietly, voice betraying confusion.

"No," Nathaniel answers immediately and shakes his head for emphasis. He feels bad now. "Not at all. I'm sorry I gave you that impression."

Lysander's shoulders slump in relief and he contentedly smiles as he takes a seat beside him.

.

It's a couple months later when Nathaniel wakes up screaming again, and it's the first time it's happened since he and Lysander starting lingering outside the barracks. This time the first hints of sunrise are peeking in through the window and he luckily hasn't woken anybody up.

Or so he thinks.

"Nathaniel?" Lysander asks quietly, sitting up a few mattresses away, hair disheveled and bicolored orbs blurry with sleep.

"Sorry," Nathaniel whispers, voice trembling as he still quakes in his own cold sweat.

Lysander studies him a moment and then gets up, shuffling over. "Don't be." He sits on the edge of the mattress, smoothes the hair back from Nathaniel's eyes and gingerly feels his forehead. Nathaniel doesn't say anything, but he presses into the touch.

"Do you want me to stay?"

"...Please."

Lysander nods and Nathaniel scoots back as he joins him under the blanket. Lysander takes him in his arms and pulls him closer again and they fold up together. Nathaniel closes his eyes and listens to the rhythm of Lysander's heartbeat. Eventually his breathing matches it, and though there's only about an hour left before they have to get up anyway, it's the best sleep Nathaniel's had in years.

From then on, they sleep together every night.

.

"Why do you only dye part of your hair?" Nathaniel asks when the night is starry and everyone except for him and Lysander is asleep.

"I like it," Lysander replies simply. "Do you?"

"Yeah. It's unique. It's you."

A blush tints Lysander's features and he gently bumps Nathaniel's shoulder. As he shifts, Nathaniel spots the familiar blue cover poking out of his pocket.

"What do you write about in your notebook?" He blinks curiously.

"Well you certainly have a lot of questions for me tonight." Lysander gives him an amused look.

"I like learning things about you," Nathaniel explains simply. "It makes me happy."

"A lot of flattery too," laughs Lysander.

"I don't think you mind it." Nathaniel cracks a grin.

"Not in the least." And then Lysander shrugs. "I write mostly everything in my notebook. I document the days, the people I meet. I think it's important. Especially because I don't expect to live long."

Nathaniel's throat goes dry and his chest tightens painfully.

"Sorry," Lysander murmurs. "I know it's a grim thing to say. But it's reality."

"I know," Nathaniel gets out even though it hurts. "I know I'm not likely to live that long either."

.

They graduate. They both make it into the top ten. They could both join the Military Police and lengthen the probability of long lifespans, long lifespans_ together_, even, possibly. But they don't. They join the Survey Corps like they said they would. Unfortunately for Nathaniel, Castiel joins too.

"I'm gonna kill more titans than you," he claims brazenly, eyes daring him to accept the challenge.

"Please," Nathaniel scoffs. "I scored three places higher than you." Almost nothing in this life has given Nathaniel this sheer amount of satisfaction.

Castiel folds his arms over his chest. "That's only because they take crap like teamwork into account. As far as killing 'em goes, I'm still going to top you."

"I'm going to kill more titans than both of you combined," Kim interjects, clearly still irked by their eternal pissing match.

Lysander and Violette roll their eyes in the background.

They're assigned to a peculiar woman's squad. Her name is Agatha and she has obscenely long magenta hair that see keeps tightly coiled up and bound so it won't interfere with fighting. However, it must take so long to get it that tight, Nathaniel's sure she'd be better off cutting it. She has a bubbly disposition and giggles playfully when she acquaints her new squad.

"Welcome to the Survey Corps! I'm your squad leader, Agatha. But you can all call me 'Auntie' if you want. I want us to be like family, you know?" She claps her hands together and rocks back on the balls of her feet. "I've just been ranked up, so this is actually the first time I've ever been assigned a squad of my own."

"I wonder why," Castiel grumbles, who, to the bane of Nathaniel's existence, is also in the same squad.

Agatha pauses, bright smile temporarily fleeing her face. She then very violently jerks Castiel out of line by the collar and drives her balled fist under his chin. He sails, limply falls back to the dirt like a sack of potatoes, and Agatha strides forward.

"Anyone else want to doubt me?"

Not a word.

"Good! Now, since you've just graduated and we're all new at this, I've decided to take you all out drinking tonight! That way we can get to know each other and have a little bit of fun before we have to get down to business."

"But isn't that unprofessional?" pipes up Melody. "Besides, most of us are underage."

Agatha quickly steps forward and very effortlessly takes Melody by the arm and flips her over her shoulder, sending her crashing into Castiel (who was just starting to get up).

"Any other objections?"

Not a word.

And that's how they end up at a pub in the Amoris District. Late into the night, Lysander's glassy eyes meet Nathaniel's as he sets the mug down.

"Dance with me."

"Dance?" Nathaniel's eyes briefly flicker to Leigh and Rosalya and Kim and Violette who are both doing...Something. Moving together. "Sorry, Lysander. I don't really even know what that is." Because honestly, who dances in a world like this?

"I don't either. Dance with me anyway." Lysander smiles.

"Alright." Because Nathaniel can't resist that smile.

Lysander steps down from the stool and leads him to the floor. They swing each other around and tug each other in close and refrain and step. They link their fingers and let go, and the alcohol has them both spinning without the additional movement, but they move each other anyway. They have no idea what they're doing, but that couldn't matter any less.

Nathaniel kisses him like he's always wanted to kiss him. He roughly snakes his fingers through his hair and jerks his head down the four centimeters it takes for their lips to smash together. Lysander kisses him back. He kisses him softly and then he kisses him hard, and he tastes like booze and need and crisp black pepper.

.

Their first real mission takes place a week after the night they kiss, and they haven't talked about it since then. They still share a bed and stay up late, just in a new place, and everything is normal between them even if their routine is new.

Their first mission, is, bizarrely, to _capture_ a titan. Nathaniel's mouth nearly hits the dirt and Lysander goes ramrod beside him.

Seeing the looks of shock, Agatha squares her jaw and suddenly looks very serious. "Experimenting on titans helps us learn. The more we know about them, the easier they are to kill. After all, if we never learned that the nape of the neck is their weak spot, we never would've been able to kill them at all."

Venturing past the walls, Nathaniel feels alive like he never has before. The open air is a godsend and the scent of pure forest fir, untainted by the odor of containment, kisses his skin and tingles in his nostrils. The rapid thud of horses' hooves on the untamed terrain matches to his leaping pulse, and when the titans spot the formation and start lumbering over, the edge of fear only sharpens his sensations.

"Now," Agatha calls back she leads her squad into the thick of the forest with hungry titans on their trail. "We're all going to station ourselves in the trees. Kim's going to park the supply cart under where I land. Unless threatened by a titan, you're to remain stationary until I instruct otherwise. I'll make the final decision in what titan we're going to capture, but if you see one you believe is suitable, yell to me or shoot a red flare. Remember, we want one seven meters or smaller. Our space is limited."

That's it. That's the plan. They went over it before leaving and they're going over it again now because some people are starting to panic. It's a weak, scarcely coherent plan. No wonder the fatality rate of the Survey Corps is so high.

The titans are gaining on them with unintelligible grunts and heavy footfalls, so, so _close_ and that's when Agatha gives the order to dismount. 'Dismount' is a word Nathaniel believes to be highly unfitting for the jarring task of launching oneself from a galloping horse into a tree. Nathaniel attempts to aim for the highest branch he can, but everything is so fast that he's practically blind.

He comes to an abrupt halt twelve or so meters up, sucking in a breath as everyone else does the same. Almost everyone, that is. A sharp scream tears through the atmosphere of relative control, reminding them that they are human and they don't have control at all. It's Iris's scream; a titan's pinching her leg between two fingers and holding her over its gaping maw. Agatha dashes in in the same second Nathaniel realizes he's too far to make it to Iris before the titan consumes.

She rakes the nape of its neck with an expert flick of the blade and secures Iris around the waist in the same swing. But before Nathaniel can reflect on the newfound respect for his leader, a titan of fifteen meters sets its sights on him. It doesn't even reach for Nathaniel, it lowers its jaw and snaps at him like a cur. He stumbles backward off the branch more so than he dodges, but narrowly escapes its bite all the same. Reeking, vile breath of decay washes over him and burns his eyes as he discharges the grapple-hooks into its face.

He's reeled up, unafraid, plan in mind. He swerves around, releasing the hooks, planting his feet between its shoulder blades. It's gross, really. This is no time to be noticing minor details, but the titan burns under the soles of Nathaniel's boots like it's a slab of steak that's already been cooked. He notes this as he raises his weapon, but the milliseconds it took him to notice what didn't need to be noticed has cost him dearly; the titan shakes him off like his horse shakes its pelt to get rid of flies.

Nathaniel plummets, lands in the mouth of a smaller titan. Acting on reflex and not really thinking at all, he skewers the blade into the roof of its mouth before it can swallow. He hangs on to the handle even as its teeth snap shut and seal him inside its putrid mouth. It makes a gurgling sound as it tries and fails to swallow him. No matter how bad things look, Nathaniel can't just give up. Not on his first mission, not like this. He thinks he can slash its cheek open and get out that way, but he has to be fast. _Really_ fast, or—

The titan opens its mouth all by itself to take a bite out of another human in its bulbous hands. A human Nathaniel is distraught to see is Lysander. He wrenches his blade out of its mouth as their eyes meet, and Lysander's are uncannily shining in relief.

"As I thought," he breathes. "You're alive."

Nathaniel doesn't have time to question the words as he thrusts himself out of the titan's opened mouth, swiping the blade downward to sever its wrist and free Lysander. It's incredibly lightweight as he shaves it, much more than he expected it to be. He rotates out of its uninjured arm's flailing grasp and zips into the closest tree, nearly collapsing on the branch. Lysander's worked his way free of the pliable dead fingers and pistons by, whipping the blade across the titan's vital point. Thick, deep crimson sprays and leaves him drenched, and an ardent heat stirs in the pit of Nathaniel's gut.

There is a feral part of him that likes seeing Lysander drenched in steaming titan blood. A part of him that relishes in the danger Lysander's placid disposition masks. But that part of him is not something to think about now, when Lysander aims his hooks and dives into the branch beside Nathaniel, squatting and panting heavily.

"Are you okay?" he demands more than he asks.

Then something clicks. "Did you let that titan grab you just so you could save me?"

Lysander nods. Nathaniel narrows his eyes and is a second away from telling him how reckless and stupid that was, when the big motherfucker of a titan he failed to kill the first time around trots past and makes a grab for a sidetracked Leigh. Nathaniel leaps from the branch and catapults himself over. He tears through the nape of its neck with a vengeance and emerges coated in scalding titan blood.

A valiant effort, but as it goes on, they're just too overwhelmed. Agatha calls a retreat. The mission is a failure, but unlike typical results, there are only a few casualties.

.

That night, when all the action is done for the day and they're home and cleaned up, Lysander tightly embraces Nathaniel without warning.

"Thank you for saving Leigh."

"You saved me first," Nathaniel chuckles and winds his arms around him. "Anyhow, we shouldn't have to thank each other. We're supposed to have each other's backs."

Lysander gives a pleasant hum. "We made our first real kills today."

"That reminds me," Nathaniel murmurs. "I...Well, sorry for bringing this up right now, but do you remember how we talked about how likely it is we're not going to last long?"

"Yes," he says. Many people would probably get pissed at Nathaniel for ruining a cheerful note with such a dreary reminder, but not Lysander.

"If anything ever happens, I..." Walls, he sounds sappy. Cheap and hackneyed. Nonetheless, Nathaniel doesn't really know how else to say it. "I love you. I just want you to know."

Lysander freezes. He holds Nathaniel out at arm's length and for one awful moment, Nathaniel's afraid he's made a horrible misstep in telling him. _I'm sorry_, he thinks and nearly says aloud. But then Lysander kisses him so hard, he's sure any bystander would think he's eating his face like some kind of human titan. Everything's okay.

.

Given the initial failure, Agatha wants to make a second attempt. This time they're going to set out in the evening, given that titans have so far been observed to require sunlight to be active, they're likely to be confronted with less of them. However, the waning daylight is going to make it more difficult to see, particularly concerning titans that may already be well camouflaged in the trees.

But it's always a toss-up. There are always disadvantages, big or small.

(Usually big, just ask the massive fatality rate.)

Concerning the number of titans, she turns out to be right. The swarm of them is a little less than half the size it was last time. Nathaniel kills his second titan in a flurry of meteoric maneuvers and rolls into a landing on the forest floor. This would be nothing short of suicidal if it wasn't in the plan, but it was, and as Nathaniel draws the attention of a duo of awkward, obscurely proportionate ten/eleven meter class titans, Kim and Rosalya swoop in and slaughter them.

Getting all the bigger ones out of the way leaves the smaller ones to pick from. Nathaniel grapples another trunk and hurtles himself upward, passing over the outstretched digits of esurient titans. He catches sight of Lysander in his peripheral, gracefully shearing the nape of a chubby titan's neck. It makes him smile.

"That's the one," Agatha declares vehemently, pointing to a five meter class titan with surprisingly large ears for their class's generally proportionate shapes. Well, proportionate as far as titans went, anyway. "Start firing the ropes!"

Nathaniel steels himself and dips into formation. He's prepared for everything, except for what happens. Out of nowhere, Lysander drops from the air like a stone and crashes to the earth in a heap. Pure panic and absolute incredulity flood every one of Nathaniel's nerves. He breaks out of formation and zaps toward him, heart thrumming at 1000 kilometers a minute. "Lysander!"

"I'm fine," he calls hoarsely, sitting up by the time Nathaniel gets there and holding one shoulder. "Just embarrassed. I forgot to refill my gas." He smiles sheepishly at Nathaniel as blood trickles into his teeth from a wound under his hairline.

Leigh darts over as well and crouches down, frowning deeply. "Are you hurt?"

Nathaniel swallows shakily, studying every inch of Lysander and asking the same thing with his eyes, though he can't find his words.

"Not badly, I don't think. Just my shoulder. It was only a stupid accident, don't worry. Go help the others secure that titan so this trip wasn't for nothing." Lysander's gritting his teeth and quite visibly in pain, but his tone leaves no room for argument. Nathaniel and Leigh obey him and return to the operation, but Nathaniel still feels sick to his stomach.

With the most dire threat of titans themselves so vastly overshadowing everything else, he's forgotten that stupid accidents can happen.

This time the mission is a success. When they return to headquarters, Agatha happily names the titan Kiki.

Lysander's shoulder is dislocated. Boris is a rather friendly medic and gently warns him it's going to burn like hellfire when he pops it back in. Lysander simply nods and grips Nathaniel's arm with his functioning fingers so hard that his knuckles go stark white. There is a nasty, cacophonous sound when Boris carries out the deed and pushes the damaged joint back into place.

Lysander is as silent as a melting snowflake, but Nathaniel can feel him screaming in agony in the way his grip clenches tight enough to cut off Nathaniel's circulation.

"You're going to be out of commission for about two weeks," Boris informs him apologetically.

"What joy," Lysander mutters tersely and he's hardly ever sarcastic, no that's Castiel's department and even Nathaniel's more than it ever is Lysander's; so it's quite the indication about just how much it actually hurts.

And yet a part of Nathaniel is glad. Because two weeks Lysander is off duty means two weeks that Lysander is safe from titans and stupid accidents. It's disgusting and selfish to think about his boyfriend's pain like that, but Nathaniel thinks it anyway._ I'm sorry_, he mentally apologizes.

.

"Recovery leave isn't as boring as it seems it would be," Lysander tells him one night, a week later, when Nathaniel returns soaked in titan blood with images of devoured comrades reeling through his mind.

"It isn't?" he questions almost absently.

"It isn't. You get to spend time with the strategists, even help them if they ask for your input. Violette let me look over some new formation plans she wasn't sure about. You get to spend time with Kiki too. Agatha's even more eccentric with Kiki than she is with us. She attempted to play catch with him." A faint grin of amusement unfurls on his lips.

"That sounds like quite the useful experiment." Nathaniel chuckles drily and sheds his damp, crusting uniform. He sinks back into their shared mattress, sore limbs sprawling bonelessly.

He doesn't remember closing his eyes, but he must have, because when he opens them again, Lysander's sitting on the edge of the mattress with a bowl of water resting precariously before him. He rinses a cloth in it and gently scrubs the crud and congealed crimson-brown from Nathaniel's face, humming melodically as he does so.

"Thanks," Nathaniel breathes.

"None needed." Lysander frowns a little, almost as though he's offended.

"Sorry."

"That's not needed either." And he dips his fingers in the water and works them through Nathaniel's hair, tenderly massaging his grimy scalp.

.

"Would you spar with me?" Lysander asks when he's healed and they're both done with daily duties in preparation for an upcoming expedition.

Nostalgia ripples through Nathaniel and brings a goblin grin to his lips. "Of course."

Lysander rushes Nathaniel with unbidden vigor and Nathaniel ducks, aiming to thrust his elbow to Lysander's sternum. Lysander narrowly avoids this and feigns a step to left, catching Nathaniel off-guard when he swivels and seizes him in a chokehold. Struggling, Nathaniel twists a hand free and backhands him. Lysander loosens his arm and stumbles back, Nathaniel stumbling forward.

He rounds on Lysander and sends a kick toward his ribs, but Lysander catches him by the ankle before it strikes and twists. Stars explode in Nathaniel's vision as he's decked to the ground, back first. Lysander pins him and presses his forearm firmly to his throat, eyes dancing and sweat glistening off his skin.

"You win this round," Nathaniel coughs in earnest.

"I do." Lysander removes his arm and that's when Nathaniel pushes upward with all his weight. Taken aback and unbalanced, Lysander topples to the ground and Nathaniel straddles him. He pins his wrists over his head and kisses him hungrily, crushing their lips together and nipping at the corner of his mouth.

"Sneaky devil," Lysander rebukes playfully, breath steamy against Nathaniel's teeth.

"I'm sorry," Nathaniel buoyantly tells him with no trace of genuine apology whatsoever. "I just couldn't resist."

"Someone needs to teach you self-control," Lysander purrs and pointedly swipes his tongue over Nathaniel's lower lip before he starts sucking on it.

A shiver dipped in heat twirls its way down the rungs of Nathaniel's spine and settles between his thighs.

.

Nathaniel manages go through an entire year in the Survey Corps without injury warranting any more than a few drops of salve. But his luck eventually runs out, as luck tends to do.

They're on a joint expedition with one of the Garrison regiments, scoping out the condition of Wall Tijie and the titans who clamber through the ruins within. There's been talk of reclaiming it for awhile now, and well, maybe they can. Nathaniel can't help feeling distracted. He's the closest to home (but its not, it's not home now, it probably isn't even there) he's been since the day the Wall was perforated. Lysander and Leigh are bothered too, but they're quiet about it like he's quiet about it.

There's no use crying over spilled blood.

Even so, the yearning, itching curiosity to go back to where his house was nags at the back of his skull and conquers him with an inexplicable gravitational pull. Maybe he feels like he'll get some finality if he sees what's become of it. Maybe he's feeling it on the behalf of his parents, whom he can only assume the fate of, or else on Amber's behalf as she'd died (been eaten alive) when trying to reach that resolution.

He doesn't know. But they're here to observe, to explore, to draw conclusions. Nathaniel doesn't see why that shouldn't include the vicinity where his yellowed memories lay. When Agatha waves her hand and gives them leeway while she discusses plans with the Garrison's Faraize, Nathaniel flings himself into a path he's never taken airborne before, but manages anyway. It's funny that he recalls it at all, given the passage of time.

But maybe things like paths to your childhood home are just the kind of things you never forget. Perhaps sentiment has some merit in this world after all, though Nathaniel's long sense disowned the ideal.

Some of the house is still standing. Nathaniel inhales a sharp breath and pings himself to the neighboring remainders of a house that once belonged to this nice guy named Charli, whose younger brothers played with him and Amber. He used to make chocolate. Nathaniel never really liked sweets, not even as a child, and Charli was nice enough to make bitter, unsugared dark chocolate for him separately. He had pet chickens too, Nathaniel recalls. He used to chase them.

It's only about a fourth of Nathaniel's house that's still standing. The chimney and the spine of the roof, runged with sparse shingles. Everything else is splinters and rubble, crushed or kicked by titan appendages and weathered by time. He remembers falling asleep in front of the fireplace in his mother's lap when he was really small and the toasty heat made him drowsy. He remembers being a little older and threatening to throw Amber into the flames. He wouldn't really, of course. He just liked scaring her. She was a crybaby after all, always running to Daddy, so she made it too easy.

Before Nathaniel can tell himself he's through with the nostalgia and it's time to move on because there's nothing else to see here, a plump titan with flailing sausage arms comes careening around the corner. Nathaniel pulls out a blade, preparing to slay— _oh shit, it's an abnormal!_

The titan picks up speed and garbles something in dumb noises that it itself most likely does not understand, its boat of a hand swatting Nathaniel right off his perch. He sails through the air and painfully bounces on another forgotten roof, skidding along it at breakneck velocity. His gear detaches as he's razed by shingles and thrown into disorientation by the pinwheel of blurring color.

The color goes red, there's something wet, and then everything's pitch black.

When Nathaniel comes to, there is a muffled roaring in his ears and a sky painted in streaks of tangerine, periwinkle, and coral above. Sunset. It was midday when he encountered the abnormal titan. He's on his back and everything is incessantly throbbing, even his eyeballs. It takes another second to register motion and Nathaniel realizes he's on the back of a cart, and there's Lysander sitting beside his waist. His profile is to Nathaniel and he's got his face buried in his hands, emitting nearly inaudible sniffles.

Blinking, Nathaniel wordlessly lifts a bandaged hand and gently touches his cheek. Lysander abruptly raises his head and turns into the touch, making a little, hiccupy noise as his cold fingers fold over Nathaniel's hand and keep it pressed to his cheek. Red-rimmed eyes, he's been crying.

"You had me scared to death," he chokes out and then he's crying again, clutching Nathaniel's hand tighter as fat teardrops stream down. A few of them slip past the crease and Nathaniel can feel them on his palm, warm and wet. "I thought you were _gone_..."

"M'sorry," Nathaniel croaks faintly.

Lysander quickly shakes his head and lowers Nathaniel's hand for a moment just to kiss it, before he presses it back to his cheek. "No. No 'sorrys.' You're here, and that's enough. You're _here._"

Nathaniel's never seen Lysander cry before. At first he hates it, so he tries to make him feel better. "Sunset's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes it is." Lysander's still crying, but now he's smiling a beaming smile through the torrent of tears, and Nathaniel decides it's much better that way.

.

Concussion, numerous gashes ranging from his chin to his toes, sprained wrist, cracked collarbone, just plain severe bruising. He's on recovery leave for two months and it's so damn boring it's downright maddening.

The first three weeks were fine. The first week Lysander took time off to stick around with him, even though Nathaniel repeatedly reassured him he didn't have to (later he'll reflect that it was probably more for Lysander's benefit than it was for his own, as Lysander was still really rattled about the whole thing), the second week it was kind of nice to just relax, and the third Nathaniel spent helping the other squad leaders and Boris with paperwork.

Now he's going insane. He can't stand doing nothing. He craves the sensation of titan flesh ripping under a sweep of his blade. He's starved for the open air beyond the Walls. He's so restless it's straining. However, despite the grueling ordeal, Nathaniel doesn't push to get back on the job. He knows if he did that, he'd never hear the end of it from Lysander, or worse, get himself fucked up permanently and be forced to resign. He'll just have to muddle through.

It shouldn't be the hardest thing he's ever done. At the moment though, it still manages to feel like it is. Lounging is tedious, roaming aimlessly is pointless, his thoughts are stale and his gear is getting dusty. This part is more painful than the injuries themselves and it's like the world is taciturn.

Things change drastically, either for the better or the worse; when Lysander and the others return.

Nathaniel waits at the gate as he's made a habit of doing, but when Agatha emerges in the lead, she's as white as a phantom and her hair is unbound. It streams in tangled magenta waves as she urgently rides past Nathaniel without so much as a glance. Unease seeps deep into Nathaniel's skin. Something is wrong. Whether it's overwhelming losses, or a horrifying discovery, or something else entirely, something is just not right.

His trepidation is minutely lifted by a spark of relief when Lysander shuffles through the gate in one piece, but his shellshocked expression and corpse-pale complexion speak volumes. Nathaniel strides over, heartbeat quickening.

"Lysander? What happened? Are Leigh and Rosa okay?"

Lysander swallows, wetting visibly cracked lips with his tongue. "They're fine. Things took a turn for the worse out there, Nathaniel. There were so many titans...So many, but they're both fine. It's not them...I..." He shakes his head, utterly slack-jawed and stunned. What makes this all worse is that this is Lysander; Lysander is honestly the calmest, most composed person he knows.

"What he's trying to say," Kim says and comes to a stop, lime eyes hard as flint. "Is that your pissing match opponent is a titan shifter."

Stupefaction instantly arrests Nathaniel. "What!?" Nobody's seen a titan shifter in years! And she's saying Castiel is!?

"It's true," Lysander murmurs, seemingly out of his daze even though he's still as round-eyed as an owlet. "Castiel revealed himself when the mission went south. They have him restrained in a cart."

The words have only just fled his lips when a cart rolls past the gate. Sure enough there's Castiel, handcuffed by the wrists with the cuffs secured to the side of the cart. His head's tipped back, sable bangs covering his eyes, but Nathaniel can still see the gag in his mouth.

"Traitor," he hisses venomously. He's never liked the guy and that's no secret, but he never suspected he was one of _them._

"Hang on," Lysander protests. "You don't know that. He's never hurt anyone before, and if it wasn't for him shifting into a titan back there, the squad might not have come back."

"He shifted to save himself," Kim bites and Nathaniel gets the vibe they're likeminded on this one. "We had the same enemy, that's all. He isn't some kind of hero."

Lysander looks ready to leap to Castiel's defense again, but it comes to their attention that the gate is closed once more and everyone is swarming to the square. Lysander directs a glower of disapproval at both of them and then ducks off to join the crowd. Nathaniel and Kim trade glances and carry on after him, Kim diverging paths, most likely to seek Violette.

The Commander (a rigid older woman people sometimes call the 'Principal' due to her past position as an instructor) is pacing back and fourth before a kneeling, shackled Castiel. Lysander shoulders his way to the front of the throng of onlookers and Nathaniel keeps close to him.

"Well?" she asks firmly and clearly. "Do you mind informing us what your intentions here are?"

Castiel scoffs, as dismissive toward authority as ever. The Commander has a brick in her right hand. She smashes it down on his skull and the crowd is so eerily hushed that Nathaniel can hear it when the flecks of blood hit the concrete. Lysander bristles beside him and Nathaniel's half-temped to grab him to keep him from bolting over there.

"Again?"

Castiel lifts his head, redirecting a rivulet of ruby. "Same reason everybody else is here, to kill titans."

"You are a titan."

"No! I mean, yeah, but no!" Castiel loses that haughty composure instantly, and to Nathaniel's ears, suddenly sounds incredibly young. "I'm not one of mindless ones, and I'm not like the past shifters! I don't have an agenda, okay? I'm just here! I have a life here, I'm not out to get anybody, or rage war against humanity or whatever."

The Commander pauses. She looks as though she believes him as much as Nathaniel does, which is to say, not at all.

"If this is the case, why did you lie by omission?"

"Cause I knew this would happen." He glares at the gawkers.

She gives an unimpressed snort and then leans down, slipping in the key and removing the cuffs from his wrists. "Shift," she demands simply.

"Eh? Why?" Castiel looks up to her suspiciously and the Commander wallops him over the head with her brick again.

"I want to confirm your nature," is the explanation she gives, but she is the Commander, and she does not owe an explanation to anyone, especially not to one of _them_. It could very well be a pretense.

"I've never done it twice in one day..." He sounds doubtful and now even younger.

"You will today."

After a level staring contest in which he loses, Castiel bites into his palm and the most enormous titan Nathaniel has ever seen replaces him. Its seventeen meters tall and athletically muscled, retaining lank sable hair that's vaguely familiar. At the very sight of it, Nathaniel instinctively reaches for a blade, only to recall he's on recovery leave and wearing none.

"I see," the Commander snipes. "As you were."

Castiel emerges from the neck and sort of tumbles down his titan's rapidly dissolving body, seemingly only semiconscious, or enervated at the very least. That's when Nathaniel regrets not holding Lysander back when he could, because now's streaking over and wrapping his arms around the thing he still thinks is his friend. He holds him up and soothes him, even as his titan's body is reduced to a sizzling skeleton and the Commander orders his arrest.

"Just lock it up until I decide what to do with it," she mandates tartly and walks away with every hair in place.

Castiel yields to being cuffed and gagged again, either too exhausted to fight it or realizing it's unwise. Nathaniel leans toward the former. Lysander hesitantly steps down and regroups with Nathaniel.

"What they're doing is inhumane. You've got to believe me, Nathaniel, Castiel won't hurt anyone." Lysander isn't frustrated by his doubt anymore, just pleading and worried.

"I don't," Nathaniel asserts and tries to steel himself to the look of heartbreak Lysander gives him.

"But Nathaniel, you've known him for years! I've known him for years! If he was really a threat, don't you think we would've known before this?" Lysander's voice is laced with aching. "Is it just because it's Castiel? If it were someone else would you be so sure?"

"I could ask you the same question!" snaps Nathaniel. "If he wasn't your best friend, would you be so sure he's innocent? And to answer your question, yes, I would be just as sure a_ titan_ shifter was dangerous, even if it wasn't Castiel! If it was fucking Iris I would be just as sure it's dangerous! I'm sorry, but I don't trust titans! They're humanity's enemy! Every single one of them!"

Lysander's fists tremble as his eyes waver. He wheels and stalks away without another word and Nathaniel doesn't try to go after him. He's never actually been angry at Lysander before, and his stomach is as green as his blood pressure is soaring. And though he wasn't lying when he said it, Nathaniel can't help but wonder if Lysander could possibly be right. Would he be so dead set on distrusting a titan shifter, if it wasn't Castiel? Nathaniel thinks so, he hopes so, but—

But it is Castiel, it doesn't matter if it was someone else, because it's not.

.

It's been two days. Lysander won't stop trying to save him and Nathaniel won't stop hoping the Commander decides on execution.

"If it were up to me," Agatha tells Lysander when he comes to her asking if there's something, anything she can do about this. "I would set him free. I'd obviously restrict that freedom, but the shifters of the past turned on humans when they were exposed. He could be a valuable asset. He killed over twenty titans out there all on his own, not to mention the experiments we could conduct with him..." She trails off with a low sigh. "But it is the Commander's decision and the Commander's alone. I'm sorry."

Lysander isn't angry with Nathaniel, or at least he doesn't think. He's tight-lipped and cool, radiating frustration and some kind of insipid helplessness he resents Nathaniel won't help him with. But angry? Actually angry? Decidedly infuriated with the Commander, but not Nathaniel. All that's directed at Nathaniel out of a rage as unassumingly threatening as thin ice is a look of raw disappointment.

Nathaniel almost thinks that's worse, but he's nearly as disappointed that Lysander, who of all people should understand, is siding with one of _them_. In any case, their personal grievances matter naught because they are no factor whatsoever in whatever fate the Commander assigns Castiel.

But with all that's going on, their schedules have resumed. Err, Lysander's schedule has resumed anyway. Nathaniel is still on leave. He winds up visiting Kiki (if one could really call it visiting) just because he doesn't know what to do with himself. The titan is nailed down at every joint and roped up around the throat, completely immobilized. Its watery brown eyes shift onto Nathaniel and it pointlessly opens and closes its mouth, almost as though it has the capacity to imagine chewing on him.

"But I don't give you that much credit," Nathaniel tells it aloud.

Kiki continues staring blankly.

Although they have been able to get a lot of information out of observing, the question Nathaniel wants answered the most never is. Why? Why do they eat humans?

That's all. Figure out that and he'll be satisfied.

"Um, Nathaniel?"

For a short-lived, horrifyingly amazing moment, Nathaniel thinks it's Kiki that spoke to him. But then Melody steps into his sightline and he curses his absurdity, chalking it up to lingering effects of his concussion.

"Hey, Melody."

"Do you think we could talk? Somewhere private?" Her cerulean depths fix on his solemnly, tone lowered and hands folded together in front of her.

"Sure." Nathaniel hopes she isn't going to ask him out. He's always had the idea she's fond of him, she'll hint it in the way she smiles at him for no reason at all. It's not as though he and Lysander keep their relationship secret, but Melody's more often a strategist than she is on the frontline, so it's not as if they're abundantly placed in each other's company.

She leads him to the stables and exhales a long breath before speaking, rolling her shoulders like she's getting her courage up. Then Nathaniel is positive she's going to ask him out, and completely unprepared when the words that leave her lips are; "You want Castiel dead, right?"

"Why?" he returns evasively, eyes narrowing.

Melody lowers her head. "I know where they're keeping him and I have a copy of the skeleton key that unlocks the cells. I had it made when Corporal Louis had me on cleaning duty." She unfolds her hands finally and lays her left one flat. There's the key, sitting pretty on her palm. "I'll give you a map too, if you—"

"What do you gain if I kill him?" Nathaniel isn't biting any bait or making any decision until she spills.

"Peace of mind?" Melody laughs nervously, syllables juddering. "It's terrifying enough when there are titans outside the walls, how are we even supposed to sleep at night when they're inside them too?"

"Why don't you kill him yourself then?" He couldn't agree more, but he's still not biting, if only for the fact that this is illegal. It's the Commander's decision and she could very well have him executed in the end anyway. But if Nathaniel gets caught doing something like this, it'll be his head on the chopping block. Worse still, if he gets caught, then Lysander may very well hate him.

"I think I'd falter," she answers quietly, truthfully. "I know in my head he's just another monster, but he still looks human to my heart." Her teeth sink into her bottom lip.

Nathaniel isn't like her, he won't falter. But he still isn't going to do this. He can't. _There's too much risk, the consequences would—_

He's taking the key from her hand before he can finish the thought.

.

There are guards, but not guards around the clock because there are more important things for soldiers to do than babysit a titan shifter subdued to the point of virtual paralysis, when only high-ranking personnel are supposed to know where he's kept anyway. Nathaniel slips in under the cover of night, clad in gear for the first time in nearly a month. It's actually Castiel's and not his own, because Melody knew where that was too and there's no way he's taking a chance by marring his own when this will probably turn into an investigation.

The acknowledgement that this is the first time he's held a blade in so long has him keenly aware of the unsightly stitches under his clothing and the vexation that he's out of practice. Far from fit enough to attempt engagement with what's truly the largest titan he's ever seen, but of course, there is no engagement here, so that doesn't really matter at all. The Commander's dealt with shifters before, and she's spared no insecurity.

Castiel's restrained almost as tight as Kiki. Forced to his knees within the cell, his wrists are handcuffed behind his back and the cuffs are melded directly to the wall. His ankles are cuffed too and the couple centimeters of chain in between the crescent plates are nailed into the floor. The only mobility he's granted is neck-and-up, though naturally he's been gagged again. He looks over when Nathaniel unlocks the cell, brows lifted. The lantern Nathaniel was smart enough not to light until he was swallowed by the shadows of prison passageways glows in his perplexed eyes and glints on the blade.

Castiel notices the blade and confusion is promptly sacrificed for outrage.

He strains against his shackles and struggles uselessly against the confinement that proves to be absolute, gag muffling his snarls. Nathaniel meets his smoldering glare of hatred with a slitted, accusatory one of his own. Castiel can despise him all he wants, but he's still the monster here. He is a monster and he's going to die like one.

Nathaniel struts forward and snags a handful of Castiel's greasy hair, forcing his head down and swiping the blade across the nape of his neck. There's a slick switch and moist crunch as his vertebrae is severed. He sags lifelessly and blood that looks more like raven ink in the dim orange light spreads in tiny rivers and courses down until it drips on the floor below.

"I guess you were right about your killing skill being better than mine," Nathaniel says flatly. His skin quivers with disgust that he unknowingly competed against this vile creature.

He leaves as silently as he came and disposes of Castiel's gear in a pond.

_I'm sorry, Lysander. Someone had to do it._

.

Its untimely demise is publicly announced the following day. They don't mention it was foul play, and Nathaniel doesn't fear getting caught.

This is the second time Nathaniel sees Lysander cry. He holds it together until lunch (if one could call going through the motions in zombified silence holding it together) and then he quietly excuses himself from the table. Nathaniel isn't sure if his presence is wanted, in fact leans toward believing it's unwanted, but he follows him anyway.

Lysander goes from a muted stoic pillar to a quaking sobbing mess so suddenly it's like someone flipped a switch. He buries his face in his hands and drops to the grass, crumbling in a frail little ball and unable to hold back reedy mourning noises.

This is the one and only time Nathaniel feels like a murderer.

He gets down and hugs Lysander tight; he must've been wrong about his presence not being wanted, because Lysander latches on and clings. He presses his face into the column of Nathaniel's neck and gasps sobs into his skin, ceaseless tears and runny snot creating a stickily hot patch of wetness under Nathaniel's pulse. His grip is like iron but he won't stop trembling. It's almost like he's going to collapse, so Nathaniel just holds him steady the best he can.

"I'm sorry."

Lysander pauses and exhales a very long sigh, shaky breath moist with tears. "Don't say things you don't mean, Nathaniel," he states tautly. "Not to me."

"I mean it. I'm sorry about anything that hurts you." He's sorry. He wouldn't take it back, but that doesn't mean it hurts him any less to see Lysander like this. It's not as though he killed Castiel maliciously, it's just something that had to happen one way or another for everyone's safety, and the Commander was delaying it for too long.

Lysander grows quiet and nods. He uncurls his fingers from the material of Nathaniel's jacket and lets his arms fall flat, simply leaning in and resting his head on Nathaniel's shoulder.

Nathaniel rubs his back in small circles, but he knows it doesn't really help.

.

"Louis let me borrow one of his books today," Lysander says one night when they have the stars to themselves.

"That's nice. What was it about?" Nathaniel tilts his head and idly moves his fingers to brush Lysander's. Lysander intertwines them and smiles a private smile that glints silver in Nathaniel's peripheral.

"The places outside the Walls." He heaves a velvet, blissful sigh just thinking about it. "There's so many different kinds of places. There are forests where it rains all the time and flowers bloom in colors we've never even heard of, and that's just the beginning."

"What's your favorite place?"

"I don't know if I can pick one. Maybe the mountains. I'd like to see them the most, anyway."

"Mountains?" Nathaniel puckers a brow. "Sorry, I'm not familiar..."

"They're like hills, but gigantic. Hundreds of meters tall."

"Ah. I'd like to see that too."

"I'll take us there," Lysander promises him with starshine twinkling in his eyes and a voice smoothed of all that stunts dreamers. "When all the titans are dead, and we don't need the Walls anymore, we'll be free and we can go climb one together."

Nathaniel hesitates. At eighteen he is still not naïve, nor has he become an idealist.

"I'm not saying it will happen soon," Lysander hums and gently nudges his shoulder. "We could be old and wrinkling by the time we're free, but we'll still be free."

"You'll still want me then?" He half-jokes-half-hopes, and tries not to remember the night when they admitted they weren't bound to last very long.

"I'll want you always," replies Lysander and it comes out much more like a fact of life than a romantic hook. He warmly presses his lips to Nathaniel's temple.

.

Louis's squad encounters a speaking titan. Or so they claim anyway, Louis himself included. Nathaniel is dubious, but not disbelieving or distrustful. It could've been a shifter, after all, though according to Louis, it didn't seem in possession of a shifter's mental faculties. When it spoke it spoke in fragments, and only spoke of its hunger for humans.

Either way, his squad was on an isolated expedition and unprepared to capture it. So now they've merged with Agatha's and set out to do just that. They split up to cover more ground and Nathaniel naturally goes with Lysander. They work well together, really, compliment each other's abilities. Nathaniel's quick, Lysander's incredibly balanced, Nathaniel's merciless, Lysander's unruffled, etc.

Though they haven't encountered any titans yet, they come across a telltale sign that one is nearby. A bolus of chewed human limbs in a viscous, noxious lump against the base of a tree trunk. The result of a titan's full paunch, as they don't digest.

"Nauseating," Lysander comments with a trace of weariness. They're all jaded here.

"Indeed." Nathaniel grapples and hares himself to a higher branch, if only so he doesn't have to look at it. The movement gets him noticed by an uncommon, female-formed titan that zaps out from behind another tree and raises its hooked fingers, clawing for Nathaniel. He's up too high for it to reach, but apparently this still doesn't sit well with Lysander, because he flings himself after it, free-falling, launching himself in and shaving its nape.

Even when he should be focusing on other things, Nathaniel never fails to notice how violently elegant Lysander is. There's something to be admired in the polished motion of his maneuvers and the neat execution in the way he handles his blades. He nimbly rotates back and poises himself on his chosen branch, as predatory and sharp-eyed as a falcon.

"Should we keep moving on?" Lysander asks, seemingly oblivious to the way Nathaniel's eyes are tracing every curve of his body and every edge in his posture for what must be the millionth time.

"I suppose." Nathaniel shrugs and turns away, grinning coyly to himself as he shoots to another tree. "To be honest with you, I don't expect us to find it. The last time Louis and his squad saw it was hours ago. It's probably long gone."

Lysander follows Nathaniel's lead. "Thought I'd like to be optimistic about such an elusive find, I'm inclined to agree. But all we can do is try, right?"

"Right." He gives a short nod.

In that very moment, a strangled caterwaul pierces the air like a knife, a near-inhuman staccato of pure fear.

"That's Leigh!" gasps Lysander. He veers sharply and jets off toward the echoing cry. Nathaniel redirects his grapple-hooks and races right behind him, apprehension mounting beneath his ribcage.

When they reach Leigh, he's putting all of his power behind both blades to rend open the bulging belly of a titan roughly eight or nine meters tall. Nathaniel is absolutely dumbfounded.

"What the hell is he doing?" Lysander all but screeches as a bay of syrupy, sizzling liquid the color of beet juice bursts fourth from its gut in a rancid flood. The fetor is almost overpowering and stings his eyes, but what's worse is that Leigh stays down and starts searching through it desperately. Nathaniel's breath hitches as the horrifying realization of what's going on dawns on him. It dawns on him just as the regenerating titan reaches for Leigh again.

Lysander is so perturbed he misfires and drops out of the sky, falling to the revolting mess below with a mighty splash. Nathaniel swings and plunges to the back of the titan's neck, tearing the blade along its flesh in mere moments away from being too late. He withdraws as it topples and makes a jerky descent, peeling for Lysander and Leigh as soon as his feet touch the ground. He trips and almost face-plants in the now lukewarm pool of titan stomach gunk, but manages to retain stamina and sprint over.

Nathaniel's simultaneously relieved and awed to discover that Rosalya's alive. Leigh sits in the viscous substance with her in his lap, and though she's veneered in the foul fluid from head to toe and burned to the point of blistering, she's breathing and even partly conscious.

"It — It swallowed her whole. It didn't chew, so I thought she might be okay if I could just get her out in time," Leigh's rambling on, shaking and hyperventilating even though the leap of faith he took paid off. Painfully rattled, he looks wildly from Lysander to Nathaniel and back to Rosalya. "You are okay, aren't you Rosa?"

"I need a bath," she murmurs dizzily, blinking as if she can barely comprehend what just happened. Nathaniel doesn't blame her, he can barely comprehend it himself.

"Thanks for killing it," Lysander breathes, turning to Nathaniel and seeming to have a handle back on his composure. "I should've helped, I'm sorry, I just—"

"Don't worry about it," Nathaniel interrupts, clapping him on the shoulder. It may have been eons since Amber's death, but Nathaniel still remembers the feeling of freezing up upon seeing her in danger.

The mission to find and capture the speaking titan is a failure. They go home with nothing more than a few less soldiers and the knowledge that under certain circumstances, there is a fleeting time window to rescue someone swallowed whole.

It will have to suffice.

.

On the next expedition, Kim gets killed. Another uncommon, female-shaped titan of fifteen meters bites her head off and stuffs her in its mouth, and then she's just gone.

For Nathaniel, this is a reminder of their mortality as well as another crack in his heart. It's not that he's ever forgotten, he hasn't, he's never ever forgotten how easily his life could be cut short, but...But Kim was the best in the squad. She was the most skilled, efficient solider they had. She still fell prey to a titan's maw. If the best can fall, any of them can fall.

Violette is hysterical and unconsolable on the way back. She scrunches up in the corner of a cart of sheets for the dead (unused, unused because in this world the dead are devoured and there's nothing to cover) and wails into Kim's blooded apricot-orange scarf, the only thing left of her.

"You always told me to be strong," her shattered voice whimpers into the fabric, rivers of tears overflowing from under her tightly closed lids. "You always told me to be strong and not cry, but won't you let me cry for you now, Kim? You have to, right? You're not here to tell me I can't." She sobs and sobs and doubles over on her knees, sinking so low her hair splays across the wood.

It's Lysander who scoots over and empathetically wraps her in his arms, coaxing her to stain his chest with all her tears and rubbing her back in small circles like Nathaniel did for him once. Comforting her would generally fall to her friend Alexy, but he's positively catatonic in the same cart. Alexy's this usually buoyant, playful guy from Louis's squad. Nathaniel doesn't know him particularly well, but they've had conversations here and there.

Now they have one major thing in common. Alexy's twin brother Armin got killed by the same titan that decapitated Kim. All that's left of him is a bloody pulp of an arm, and Alexy clutches it in an unresponsive stupor.

That night when they stand around the pyres, Violette changes drastically. She's still sobbing, but now her despair is seething and she swears on her blade that she's going to slaughter every single titan she sees. It's jarring to Nathaniel; he doesn't think she's ever even killed one by herself, but that's what loss does. It changes you. It hardens you. He silently wishes her the best of luck and looks to the ashes that plume in the sky. None of them are Kim's, but this is a tribute to her anyway, her and Armin, and everyone else ever gobbled up by a titan.

"Kim was right about one thing," Nathaniel murmurs to Lysander as his eyes follow a flickering spark. "She killed more titans than me and Castiel combined." They don't talk about Castiel, of course. Nathaniel doesn't even like referring to the creature by name, let alone discussing its occupation before it was revealed as such. But this is one big funeral, Kim's funeral too, and at someone's funeral you talk about what they accomplished. Her accomplishment was offing seventy-one titans.

Lysander lets out a low, stiff sigh. "You haven't finished killing them yet, Nathaniel. You still have years of titan killing ahead of you."

Nathaniel peeks out of the corner of his eye and observes Lysander in the firelight, the bluish dark of the shadows it doesn't touch, the way it illuminates his features and accents the solemn way he holds himself tonight.

"Don't die," he begs him in a voice that fractures. "Don't ever die on me, Lysander."

Bicolored depths turned pumpkin and vermillion by the flames meet his own. "Nathaniel..."

"I'm sorry." Nathaniel looks away. "Truly, I know that's not something you can promise me."

Lysander takes his hand and squeezes. "It'll be okay, Nathaniel."

There's a lump in his throat that blocks the words from forming, so he just squeezes back.

.

A week later, Nathaniel is dreaming about the fire. He dreams about comrades' corpses who weren't there reduced to brittle, charred skeletons and burning. Burning, burning, burning, burning hot—

He opens his eyes and finds the burning still there, a thick, stifling heat. There are sounds too, harsh, wet, hacking. Coughing, Nathaniel realizes, and then he realizes it's Lysander coughing right next to him and he sits up, alert.

"Lysander?"

Lysander removes his hand from his mouth and looks over, moonlight illuminating the sheen of perspiration on his skin. He's throughly soaked, sweat beading in his lashes and collecting in the dimple of his upper lip. Fever is baking right off of him, and Nathaniel doesn't even need to touch him to tell.

"Hi," is what he says, hoarsely and wearily, and not quite all there.

Alarm sends the hairs on Nathaniel's arms standing straight up. "I'll be right back, okay? I'm going to get Boris." He draws a sharp breath, patting Lysander's clammy hand and slipping out of the mattress with worry writhing and tying his stomach in triple knots.

According to Boris, it's nothing serious. Just some virus that's been going around. But it's serious enough to have Lysander moved to the infirmary, and that's too serious for Nathaniel's comfort. He injects him with some serum or another that's supposed to help and then suggests Nathaniel keep his distance if he doesn't want to catch it. It goes without saying that he doesn't want to catch it, but like hell he's leaving Lysander.

He stubbornly remains a fixture by Lysander's bed, wooden footstool under his butt and damp cloth in his hand. He dabs away the droplets of his boyfriend's sweat and rinses it in cool water once more, smoothing it to his forehead in an effort to quell the inexhaustible heat.

"Hey, Nathaniel?"

"Don't talk," Nathaniel soothes mildly. "Just rest."

"Will you marry me?" Lysander graces him with a radiant smile despite all his malady.

Nathaniel splutters, blushing tomato-red and choking on his own breath. His heart leaps and tumbles in his chest, and he can hardly believe his ears. "L-Lysander..."

"I've thought about it before, us getting married. I'd love to see you in a suit. Especially from behind—"

"Lysander!" Now Nathaniel feels like he's the one with a fever and hides his flaming face with his hands. But at least he knows Lysander doesn't really mean it. He'd never say something so inappropriate. This is all just nonsensical delirious sick-talk, not a real proposal. "No," Nathaniel tells him with a sad little smile, taking Lysander's hand in both of his and holding it fondly. "I'm sorry, but we can't get married. We're too busy to get married."

"I suppose you're right," Lysander sighs out. "But maybe we can when all the titans are gone..."

"Maybe we can," Nathaniel agrees and tenderly kisses his flushed cheek.

.

They're reclaiming Wall Tijie. They're going to eradicate every single titan inside, all the nearing ones beyond it, and fix that massacre of a hole. Every Survey Corps squad is on it, every Garrison branch. This is a massive job, it's going to take all the manpower available.

Nathaniel is in the middle of unleashing his blade upon the nape of a titan's neck when a bigger one lumbers up from behind and spots him. Nathaniel doesn't even realize it's there until its gargantuan fingers have curled around his torso. It lifts him, grip clenching and wreaking his ribs to shattered fragments that cave in and slit his lungs.

He cries out in agony and surprise, blood and spittle flying from his decibels. Weapon still in his hands, Nathaniel brings it down, but it merely scratches the titan's rapidly regenerating appendage. It bites his legs off first, its tarnished teeth clamping down and sundering them with its mindless effortlessness. The pain is an all encompassing inferno, but when Nathaniel screams all that leaves his lips is bubbling ruby.

Flesh and muscle is destroyed or else just hanging on in meaty flaps, bones pulverized between mammoth teeth, blood pouring out of him in buckets.

_I'm sorry, Lysander,_ he thinks irresistibly, pain rocketing through everything, even the limbs that are no longer there. _Maybe next time._

But at nineteen Nathaniel is not naïve and never an idealist. He knows there's not going to be a next time, there's only the now and the now is blurring before him and darkening at the edges, slipping from his grasp.

.

.

.

"Excuse me?"

Nathaniel looks up from his clipboard to see a Victorian-styled guy standing before him. He's that guy that transferred last week, Nathaniel recalls.

"Yes?"

"I hate to bother you, but have you seen a notebook laying around? I seem to have misplaced mine."

"I haven't. Sorry, Lysander." Nathaniel lowers his eyes back to his clipboard.

"Wait...Have we met?" The guy lifts a brow, the hint of an apology veiled behind his unusual gaze.

"I don't think?" Nathaniel blinks dubiously.

"You just addressed me by name..."

He did? Huh. He didn't realize. How weird.

"Oh, right." Nathaniel offers an apologetic smile. "Your name was on one of the principal's bulletins, with your picture. Since you're new here, and all." This is bullshit. Nathaniel doesn't even know what the guy's name is, but an excuse is better than coming off as creepy.

"Ah, that makes sense." Lysander politely dips his head in farewell and walks away.

Nathaniel thoughtfully chews his lip after he's gone, absently tapping his pen against the table. What a peculiar thing...Oh well, no time to dwell on it. He has other things to do.

* * *

**This turned out being happier than I thought. Must be the Battlestar Galactica music giving me good vibes. It still sucks sour turd though o_e' **

**I wonder if rolling in toothpaste would make me less mediocre. Probably not. There are probably a million fucking typos in this. Gotta edit those. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Um...Beh. Same story as the last one, just from Lysander's point of view. Because I'm a mediocre piece of shit who constantly recycles literary laundry even though there's no greenness in that. I still have requests to be doing...Just kinda...Blahing around all over the place ._.**

**This is just another piece of crap. Brittle, disjointed, ugly, lame, pointless, worthless crap. Less subtle indications of said side pairings in le previous chapter. **

**Slightly pervyer than the last chapter, so like...Yeah. Beware of pervyness. Oh, and Bushido Brown makes a cameo. Because I'm currently watching The Boondocks and (im)patiently awaiting season four. Still no cylons though. **

* * *

When the wall crumbles and the titans overflow through the gap, it's surreal. It can't possibly be happening. Wall Tijie is infallible.

_This **can't** be happening._

Except it is.

People are hollering their terrified heads off and titans are snatching them off the cobblestone as they stomp through with impossibly huge feet. Blood and severed limbs spray from their enormous lips and splash down on the chaotic plane below.

"Leigh! Lysander!" His parents call to them from the other side of the sudden flood of people rushing to escape, searching with frantic eyes.

"We're over here!" Leigh yells back, but his voice is all hoarse and watery at the same, and Lysander can't say anything at all.

His parents somehow hear anyway and dash to weave their way over, but the panicked crowd pauses for no one, not even people just as panicked trying to get to their children. They're run over by the sea of people and trampled to death. Lysander loses sight of them before he can even cry out.

All that's left to do is join the masses.

.

"The military?" Lysander tips his head to one side, studying his brother with spent, wary eyes.

Leigh gives an assertive nod, mouth in a line. "We'll have food there and a set place to sleep."

Neither of which are easy to obtain.

"I want to combat the titans too, eventually. What happened to Wall Tijie can happen to Wall Dimitry too. We're fools to think we're safe behind the walls. Slightly _safer_, but never truly _safe_ as long as those beasts are running around." Leigh sighs out heavily like he's thought about this for awhile.

"Probably not even after..." Because humans can be the enemy too. Living under temporary roofs and in the back of precarious sheds, receiving glares from Black District citizens as they whisper loudly and harshly of overpopulation like it's his fault, Lysander knows very well that humans can be the enemy too.

"You don't want to enlist?" Leigh asks softly, his expression slipping to one almost reproachful. Birds flap around in Lysander's chest.

"I..." _I'm not a fighter,_ is what he almost says. He isn't a fighter. He's not weak, but strength doesn't automatically equate to violence. Lysander has violence somewhere he knows, but it's buried deep in there and he doesn't want to dig it out. Not even for titans. But there's a certain glint in Leigh's eyes, he's sure of something for the first time since they lost everything and Lysander isn't going to take that away from him.

"I'm tired," is what he says instead, breathing it out in a thick exhale and closing his eyes. He means it as much as he would've meant _I'm not a fighter_.

"I know. I am too." Leigh pats his head.

Now it's official, they're joining the military.

.

Lysander doesn't remember him at first. He's never had the greatest memory really, that's why his notebook's lost again, and that's why he writes so much in it. But he does remember this blonde guy, sort of. He doesn't remember where he's seen him before, but he_ has_ seen him before. He spends the better part of the instructor's intimidating lecture staring at him, trying to remember where.

He doesn't remember where until he learns his name is Nathaniel, and shakes his hand even though it's unpleasantly cold and halfhearted with the trials of a long day — no, a long life, compact into years that can't number much higher than his own.

Nathaniel's the boy Leigh paused to pull into the evacuation. Lysander blinks, mouth parting slightly in the realization.

Then Nathaniel's hand leaves his grasp. He considers mentioning it, but doesn't. Nathaniel doesn't seem to remember him, and the first day of training means the first day of starting something new. There's no need to bring up painful memories.

.

Lysander sleeps okay once he's out, but he has an infinite amount of strife getting there. It's because of the ghosts, probably. The ghosts of Walls reduced to rubble and people bleating like petrified sheep. The ghosts of a peaceful life that is no more, mourning for itself in the pockets of his seams. The ghosts of a simple life as a poet he can never have, phantom images of what it might've been wrapping skeletal fingers around the bruises the 3D maneuver gear leaves in his flesh. The ghosts of friends' faces as they bleed into a titan's tongue.

He stares at the ceiling for hours and counts the blips of moonlight in between the cracks. He reminds himself he needs to sleep well to have strength tomorrow. He tries to tell himself that it's okay to sleep for now, the second Wall isn't falling yet. None of it really helps.

A ragged scream pitches and chokes off a few bunks over. Nathaniel again. Lysander looks over, and though the light isn't the best, he can make him out as he sits. He doesn't like to get involved in others' businesses, but he thinks about going over and making sure he's alright.

"Will you quit freaking out over there?" Castiel snaps before Lysander can make up his mind. "Some of us are actually trying to sleep." He sits up too and hurls his pillow at Nathaniel's head, hitting him dead on. Lysander feels like smacking him upside the head for his immaturity, but doing that would be just as immature.

Nathaniel picks it up and puts it on top his own pillow. "I'm not giving that back," he hisses.

And so the immaturity continues. Lysander doesn't like to get involved in others' businesses but this is too much.

"The hell you aren't," Castiel spits.

"Honestly," Lysander cuts in irritably, sitting abruptly and rolling his eyes between them. "You two are ridiculous. Nathaniel, give him back the pillow. Castiel, leave him alone. As established, people are trying to sleep."

To his relief, Nathaniel begrudgingly returns the pillow and Castiel rolls over with a few muttered curses.

"I'm sorry we woke you." Nathaniel's looking at him with a quiet intensity, golden eyes glittering in the dark like a cat's.

"You didn't," Lysander murmurs, uncertain if Nathaniel can hear him and uncertain if he even wants him too. He suddenly feels very stagnant here in his bed and the air is suddenly so thick it's solid. Lysander gets up and quietly slinks outside, shivering in delight as the night air caresses him and pumps brio back into his lungs. He sits on the steps and lifts his head to the sky.

There's a sense of weightlessness when he looks at the stars. They're burning bright and marvelous, delicate specks to his eyes, but more massive than any titan could ever be so far away. It's a fascinating thing to think about.

Nathaniel sits beside him just a moment later and Lysander's glad for him. He'll probably feel better out here, after all.

"The stars are beautiful, aren't they?" Because he thinks Nathaniel will feel even better if he notices that.

"Beautiful," Nathaniel repeats, and to Lysander it sounds like he's never thought of such a thing. It's okay. So much has happened, Lysander doesn't really expect him to.

"I was there too," he tells him. "When the Wall fell. I know what the ghosts feel like." Nathaniel's ghosts might be a bit different than his, but they're ghosts all the same, born of the same tragedy.

Nathaniel gently pats his shoulder and the understanding that you lose yourself in loss is passed as dulcetly as the flap of a butterfly's wings.

Words aren't necessary.

.

Pain shoots up Lysander's spine as he's smashed down to the dirt and Nathaniel is on him as quick as an oiled thief. He shudders as the dull point of the wooden blade grazes his throat. If this were real, he'd be dead. But it isn't real and there's something he likes about Nathaniel's weight keeping him down. An odd thrill crackles in the current of his bloodstream. Perspiration-matted blonde bangs fallen out of place catch in Nathaniel's eyelashes, thinly obscuring a hungry gold gaze. Lysander's heart skips.

"Sorry," Nathaniel apologizes, and the pleasant pressure of the fake knife at his throat is removed.

"Oh no," Lysander chuckles breathlessly. "Don't be sorry. It's sparring for a reason. I'd be insulted if you were to hold back on me."

"You're good," Nathaniel compliments as he climbs off and extends his hand. His face is red with exertion and Lysander beams, knowing the praise is earnest. "Very agile. I won this round on luck."

Lysander takes his hand with gratitude as Nathaniel hauls him to his feet. "Thank you, but I do believe you have more than luck on your side." Nathaniel is modest. Perhaps a bit too modest, but Lysander finds it endearing.

"Maybe experience too," Nathaniel admits, hand still in Lysander's.

If he's going to forget to let go, Lysander is going to be tactful about how he reminds him. "I'm up for a second round if you are."

Nathaniel's entire face lights up. "You're on."

They separate quickly and Lysander doesn't waste a second. He surges forward and precisely jabs his elbow into Nathaniel's throat, sending him coughing and staggering back, arms pinwheeling. Lysander makes a dive to snatch his blade but Nathaniel evades — a sloppy evasion, but successful nonetheless — and he almost goes sprawling. He recovers himself and rounds on Nathaniel, swinging for his mouth.

Nathaniel catches Lysander's wrist and swivels, pulling him down and bringing the handle of the wooden knife down on the back of his neck. His knee adroitly strikes Lysander's chin in the following heartbeat almost as through this were choreographed and Lysander flops back with white fireworks in his vision, practically stunned. His back acquaints the ground for the second time, but this time he's more dazed than pained.

Nathaniel straddles his hips, panting with effort as a red blotch swells on his neck. Lysander blinks, lungs burning as they inflate with air again.

"I'm sorry," Nathaniel sputters again. "Maybe that was too much, I know—"

Lysander touches his face and Nathaniel stops, mouth hanging dumbly as whatever else he was going to say drops out.

"I'm not fragile," Lysander tells him simply, chin throbbing. "I'm resilient. And you're amazing."

Nathaniel's cheeks flare scarlet and Lysander cracks a little smile.

.

He and Nathaniel sit outside together just about every night. Except now they do it before even trying to sleep, and it works out a lot better that way. They stay out for as long as it takes until they're falling asleep without forcing it, and then they go back inside. It doesn't eradicate the difficulties he has getting to sleep but it significantly reduces them.

They were silent the first night, but usually they talk now. Not always, sometimes they don't even have to, but usually.

"If you weren't going to the Survey Corps, what would you want to be?" Lysander asks one night.

"Well, in the Garrison then. I'm just as disgusted by the Military Police as you are."

"No, Nathaniel." Lysander spares a subtle grin of adoration and shakes his head. "I mean, what would you want to do if you didn't enlist in the military?"

Nathaniel's lips part in mild wonder. "I...I don't know. I never really thought about it. I didn't have time to."

Lysander's more surprised by this than he should be. Sometimes he feels so old, he forgets how young they are. The gear strains away the prime in their muscles and overtaxes their joints, and the constant reminder that hardly anyone in their position lasts over thirty has them aging before their time. They were both children when the Wall fell, carefree and unburdened with responsibility. Nathaniel had all the time in the world then, and it changed in the blink of an eye.

"I see."

"Do you know what you'd do if you didn't enlist in the military?"

"I like poetry," Lysander murmurs. "I wanted to write it professionally."

"That's nice," Nathaniel breathes, lips quirking gently. "It's definitely something you would be good at. Well, better than good, probably."

"Flatterer." Lysander smirks at him.

"But I mean it." Nathaniel affectionately bumps his shoulder. "Have you written any poems before?"

"Yes. If inspiration hits, I still dabble in poetry in my spare time." _I've written at least three about you_, Lysander professes silently.

"Can I read them sometime?"

"Perhaps." As Lysander's face heats, he's never been more grateful for the night's shade.

.

"Damn, Lysander. You're the only person I know who can still forget how to put this on right when you've been doing it for months." Castiel chuckles good-naturedly, working at getting him out of his incorrectly donned gear.

"I was going to write it down, but I forgot that too," Lysander admits sheepishly. He feels the prickle of eyes on his skin and glances over to see Nathaniel. Before he can call out to him or anything, Nathaniel abruptly wheels and stalks off. A stone drops in his stomach.

"Is he angry with me?" he wonders aloud.

"Eh? Who?" Castiel grunts, peering around.

"Nathaniel. He just...Oh...I really hope I didn't do anything to upset him." Lysander racks his brain, carving every corner of it to come up with why. He can't recall doing anything that would agitate Nathaniel, but of course, he doesn't exactly have the best memory.

"That guy's such a drag." Lysander can practically feel Castiel roll his eyes. "I don't know why you care."

"You two should both put more effort in getting along," Lysander scolds tepidly. "We're all human, we're all on the same side. You're both going to depend on each other eventually, directly or indirectly. That's how fighting titans works."

Castiel pauses for a moment, Lysander can feel the hesitance of his fingertips against the small of his back. Then he huffs out a sulky sigh and steps back.

"I fixed it. You're good to take it off yourself now." He claps Lysander on the shoulder and starts sauntering away. "Good luck getting to the bottom of your boyfriend's moodiness."

"He isn't my boyfriend," Lysander protests after him, blushing brightly as he realizes just how defensive he sounds.

Castiel just casually waves without looking back and keeps walking. Lysander returns to raiding the files of his brain for what he might've done to warrant Nathaniel's cold shoulder. He's baffled. Maybe he...He still can't think of anything.

Lysander sighs and starts pacing. He doesn't really notice he's pacing, but he paces nonetheless. Maybe he should just go ask? He doesn't want to press the issue too hard, because what Nathaniel probably wants is space, but he feels awful not even knowing what it was he did.

It isn't until dinner that he actually decides to approach Nathaniel and does so with clusters of dragonflies fluttering in his gut. "Hi," he greets nervously.

"Hi." Nathaniel looks to him and doesn't give any indication of animosity. That's good...But he doesn't exactly look happy either. Lysander internally shuffles.

"Did I do something to upset you?" he asks quietly, still puzzled about what it was he could've done, but regretting whatever it was anyway.

"No," Nathaniel answers immediately and shakes his head for emphasis. Lysander feels himself melt with relief. "Not at all. I'm sorry I gave you that impression."

Lysander relaxes, anxiety vanishing and stomach uncoiling. He smiles and sits down next to him.

.

"Do you want me to stay?" Lysander asks softly two months later, looking tenderly upon Nathaniel's shaking form and still hearing the strangled yelp of a scream that woke him up.

"...Please."

Lysander nods and Nathaniel scoots back as he joins him under the blanket. Lysander takes him in his arms and pulls him closer again, folding over Nathaniel as Nathaniel folds into him and gingerly pulling the cover up. Nathaniel closes his eyes and snuggles his face into Lysander's chest, exhaling shakily. He's abnormally cold to the touch and Lysander subconsciously pulls him even closer, trying to get him warm again.

Eventually Nathaniel's breathing eases into steady tranquility. Hopefully he'll sleep better now. Lysander presses his lips to the top of his head, soft as floccus. He then nuzzles into the pillow and manages to get back to sleep too.

They don't verbally discuss sleeping together from then on. It's just something that happens all by itself and Lysander finds that just a little bit wonderful.

.

Even though the sky is vast enough to belong to everyone a thousand times over, at night when he and Nathaniel are alone outside, staring at the stars feels like a private privilege between them.

Sometimes when he's weary enough, he rests his head on Nathaniel's shoulder. Nathaniel doesn't mind, he even seems to like it. On occasion he even strokes Lysander's hair. It feels nice, Nathaniel's calloused fingers drawing through his hair in sedated, lazy touches. Lysander wishes he'd do it more often, really, but he never asks.

"We're graduating soon," Nathaniel murmurs one night while he's doing just that.

"Mm." Lysander's eyes are half-lidded in contentment.

"I wonder how we're going to place..."

"Well enough," Lysander assures, frankly not concerned about it. It's too hard to be concerned about anything when Nathaniel's petting him like a cat, and anyhow, they're not aiming for the Military Police. They've both trained hard, however they're placed will reflect that. That's all that matters.

"If I'm below Castiel I'll never live it down," Nathaniel groans. "I might even fed myself to a titan."

"You two are ridiculous," Lysander mumbles tartly as he's done many times before. Because they are ridiculous. They're petty and silly and they bicker like toddlers, always trying to show each other up and losing sight of the real objective. It's positively exasperating sometimes. "It doesn't matter which one of you scores higher, you're both conditioned to kill titans. You've both achieved the purpose of why we're trained, whatever scores you get. Be happy with that."

"..."

"I'm serious."

"I know you are," says Nathaniel, close to moping as he continues stroking Lysander's hair.

_I love you_, Lysander almost says. Because the night is peaceful and the stars are dazzling and Nathaniel's fingers are so gentle against his scalp. They're alone together and the air is just slightly humid and this may be the last calm night they have for awhile. It's a good time to say he loves him.

But he doesn't.

They're graduating soon and they have other things to think about. Love is unimportant.

.

They graduate. They both make it into the top ten. They could both join the Military Police and lengthen the probability of long lifespans, long lifespans_ together_, even, possibly. But they don't. They join the Survey Corps like they said they would.

"How in the hell did your bastard boyfriend score higher than me?" Castiel groans, morosely pushing his face into Lysander's back like the world is over.

Lysander rolls his eyes. "If you don't stop calling him my boyfriend, people are going to overhear you and get the wrong idea."

"Lysander...You sleep with him every night." For the first minute out of the day Castiel has stopped complaining about his score and lifts his head, looking at Lysander as though he's sprouted polka-dotted wings.

"Not intimately." Lysander raises a brow.

"Really?" he looks shocked. "Then what the hell do you guys do when you go outside?"

"We just talk!" Lysander gasps, mortified.

"And then you just walk inside and casually climb into the same bed?" Castiel makes a face, clearly unconvinced.

"Well, yes. We...Rest easier that way," is the best way Lysander can explain it and he feels his cheeks igniting.

"Alright. So how is he not your boyfriend?" Castiel cracks a crooked grin, charcoal gaze gleaming in mirth and disbelief.

Lysander sighs. "It just...Doesn't work like that. Neither of us have suggested any possibility of a romantic relationship, or discussed that our current relationship is anything of the sort. We don't talk about anything like that at all, Nathaniel could even be involved with someone else for all I know..." The realization dries his throat and pricks at his eyes.

"If he ever cheats on you, forget the titans, I'll eat him alive myself." Castiel throws an arm over his shoulders, somewhere in between teasing and stone serious.

Lysander ducks his head, face burning. "You suddenly have extremely poor listening skills."

As if summoned by the knowledge of being talked about, Nathaniel emerges from the rows of other trainees and approaches. Castiel quickly disconnects from Lysander and rounds on him, smirking confidently.

"I'm gonna kill more titans than you," he claims brazenly, eyes daring Nathaniel to accept the challenge.

"Please," Nathaniel scoffs. "I scored three places higher than you."

Here they go again. Lysander watches, unamused.

Castiel folds his arms over his chest. "That's only because they take crap like teamwork into account. As far as killing 'em goes, I'm still going to top you."

"I'm going to kill more titans than both of you combined," Kim interjects, joining the banter.

Lysander and Violette exchange exasperated looks and roll their eyes.

They're assigned to a peculiar woman's squad. Her name is Agatha and she has very long magenta hair that she keeps tightly coiled up and bound so it won't interfere with fighting. Lysander finds it pretty, the way the ponytail's been looped over and compressed into a bun. He also likes the pinned up braid that surrounds the bun and marvels at the thought of just how long her hair has to be when it's let down, if there's enough of it to do all that.

She's as happy as a clam which is a pleasant surprise, giggling and bouncing cheerfully as she acquaints them. Lysander wouldn't underestimate her based on a jovial demeanor however, and this is clearly very wise on his part when she knocks out two of her new squad members with little more than the bat of an eyelash.

He isn't sure how much he approves of her taking them out drinking, but he decides to indulge anyway. You only live once after all, and he's probably not going to live long. It's a combination of that thought and the burn of white whiskey settling in his stomach that has him considering asking Nathaniel to dance. And if Castiel can get the ever prim and proper Melody to be grabbing at his behind and pushing her breasts into his chest as she licks his lips, then he should certainly be able to get Nathaniel to dance with him.

Apparently people think they're together anyway. _Maybe we are and we just haven't noticed it yet_, giddily thinks Lysander's drunken brain. He puts down the mug as he sets his eyes on Nathaniel's.

"Dance with me."

"Dance?" Nathaniel's eyes briefly dart to Leigh and Rosalya and Kim and Violette who are both cavorting each other across the floor. "Sorry, Lysander. I don't really even know what that is."

"I don't either. Dance with me anyway." Lysander smiles benevolently.

Nathaniel agrees and returns his smile with one the alcohol makes sloppy, but that's okay. He's happy and he's beautiful when he's happy and Lysander doesn't think his heart's ever swelled bigger as he leads him to the floor.

They dance and dance even though they have no idea how, and just when Lysander thinks things couldn't get any better, Nathaniel kisses him. It's a deliberate, inarguable kiss and Nathaniel's fingers grip his hair so hard it almost hurts. Lysander kisses him back. He closes his eyes and reconnects their lips delicately at first, savoring the chary friction as their lips skim. Then he kisses him hard, hands tightening around Nathaniel's waist as he crushes their lips together with a bruising urgency.

Nathaniel tastes like almonds and life and liqueur and it's the best flavor Lysander's ever known.

.

Lysander isn't bothered that they don't talk about it after. There isn't any reason to be bothered. Nathaniel was the one who kissed him first and things are changing, a lot of things. They have new schedules and they're in a new place and they're going to face real danger. There isn't time to talk about kissing. They still go outside before sleeping, and Nathaniel still lets Lysander hold him and holds Lysander in turn.

They don't talk about it, but they never talked about sleeping together either. It was just something that happened on its own and it didn't need words, and that's how whatever prompted kissing between them is going to be too. No, Lysander isn't alarmed in the least. He's as calm as he always is.

Until their first mission, anyway.

Capturing a titan sounds much harder than killing one. Trepidation is a hurricane in his blood that even the pine-kissed air beyond the Walls can't quell. He doesn't let it show. He grips his horse's (a lovely tawny filly by the name of Eris) reins tightly and stays in formation, following every word Agatha utters with undeniable attention.

For a fraction of a minute, things seem to be panning out as planned and Lysander's mask of calamity stops being a mask. Then Nathaniel falls straight off the back of a titan into the mouth of a smaller one and its jaws snap shut. Lysander's is instantaneously dunked beneath a sheet of ice. He cries out soundlessly, unable to process, but before the world can end, he realizes the titan hasn't swallowed.

It's trying to, but it can't. Lysander lobs himself off the branch and straight toward it without a moment's hesitation, too scared to hope and hoping anyway. The titan greedily snatches him, its fat fingers winding around him and pinning his arms to his sides. It brings him up to its mouth and Lysander's heart is straining anxiously with each rapid beat. The titan's mouth opens to reveal Nathaniel in one piece, clutching onto the handle of the blade he's rammed through the roof of its mouth. Lysander trembles with relief.

"As I thought," he breathes. "You're alive." It doesn't even matter to him that he's less than a meter away from being a titan's meal. Nathaniel's alive, that's all that matters.

Nathaniel blazes out of the titan's mouth without a word, but his stupefied expression and moon-sized eyes are priceless. He slashes through the titan's wrist with a savage swipe of the blade and Lysander feels the compression of the titan's grasp curtail. He shakes off the remains of the digits and gyrates, barreling past the intact fingers that still grab for him. He slices open the nape of its neck and a wave of its sizzling crimson sprays out. He's soaked to the skin in the glutinous blood and it's quite nearly hot enough to burn.

He discharges his grapple-hooks to the branch Nathaniel's settled on and flies over, stopping nimbly on the one before him. "Are you okay?" he demands more than he asks.

"Did you let that titan grab you just so you could save me?" Nathaniel looks at him, lips parted as globs of titan saliva drip from his hair and uniform. Lysander nods and mentally preps himself for a lecture. It never comes. Nathaniel's eyes narrow slightly, but then they shift and Nathaniel springs up, swiftly leaping off the branch without another word. Lysander turns abruptly, and for the second time that day he's almost swallowed by ice.

There's a titan groping for his brother.

Cold is a sudden, enveloping sensation that seizes him like the ghosts do, and his mind screams at him to do something, but—

Twin hooks pierce the back of the titan's neck and then Nathaniel is there in a flash of evergreen, gold, and beige, ripping into the titan's neck so deep it's a wonder he doesn't decapitate the thing. Titan blood showers fourth from the blade's kiss, and Leigh is safe. The cold trickles out as Lysander exhales a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

The mission is a failure. It isn't even ten minutes later when Dakota gets eaten and Agatha considers this the blow of defeat. But Nathaniel's alive, Leigh's alive, and he's alive, so all Lysander can be is grateful.

.

"If anything ever happens, I..."

Lysander is holding his breath again and this time he realizes it. Nathaniel's looking him in the eyes with that somber intensity of his and his heart is hammering against the confines of his ribs, because he thinks Nathaniel's going to say what he's always wanted to say, and if he is, if he is then—

"I love you. I just want you to know."

He did and Lysander can barely believe it. He can barely believe it, but Nathaniel said it, Nathaniel loves him, and there is a rush of elation so powerful his heart explodes and resumes functioning. He smashes his mouth to Nathaniel's and grabs him by the shoulders, the impact of the kiss enough to make their teeth rattle and draw blood, probably, and Lysander isn't violent by nature, but his love is fierce.

Nathaniel lets out this sound that vibrates beneath his lips and sinks his fingernails into Lysander's sides, the stinging pressure a blessing.

"I love you too," Lysander pants as he breaks the kiss, licking the words against the corner of Nathaniel's mouth and breathing them again because it's the most liberating thing he's ever said. "I love you too."

Nathaniel pushes Lysander onto his back, the grass tickling his skin through the thin fabric of his clothes. He climbs on top and brushes their lips together with a gentle passion so opposite to the ravenous kisses just moments ago, cupping Lysander's cheek.

Lysander softly presses his lips back and threads his fingers through Nathaniel's hair, a heat hotter than titan blood pooling in his stomach.

"I love you," Nathaniel murmurs, blissful grin lighting up his golden eyes. "I know you know, I just wanted to say it again."

"I wanted to hear it again," Lysander laughs rapturously. Nathaniel's teeth snag his lower lip and their fingers intertwine.

Talking isn't the only thing they do that night.

.

Lysander's in a whirlwind of pain so intense it blurs his vision and there's no one to blame but himself. How could he forget to refill his gas, damn it!? Curse his shitty memory! It's not something he does on purpose! He assured Nathaniel and Leigh he was fine and sent them off, but really the pain is so unbearable, that as dangerous as the ground is, he can't even take himself off of it.

He scuttles on his knees over to a tree, hoping the trunk will provide some protection against titans that may spot him. 'Only my shoulder' were the words he used, but to tell the truth, he's nervous about this. It's got to be broken, it can't hurt this horribly and not be broken, and then there's the question of how bad. What if it's bad enough to grant him an early retirement? And only on his second mission? Then what's he going to do!?

Lysander grits his teeth, close to panicking thinking about this. He tells himself not to; getting all worked up over something that hasn't happened yet isn't going to help anything. It's best to just relax. Stay calm like he always does and simply hope the result is better than that.

He forces himself to breathe deeply and focus on something else. That something else ends up being Nathaniel. He, along with everyone but himself and an eaten Laeti, is working to capture that titan. It looks like a good specimen to him, not too big, not abnormal, a creature that the much more experienced Agatha approves of. They're lassoing it around the neck, wrists, and ankles, shooting ropes that end in keen spades into its joints.

Nathaniel himself is still killing the surrounding titans before they can get in the way, soaked in their blood and visibly relishing in every one that falls. That's one thing about Nathaniel that absolutely fascinates Lysander. He seems unassuming most of the time, an amiable, dependable kind of person, neat features and whipcord muscle, probably a proficient soldier. Proficient, nothing more and nothing less.

But when faced with titans, he actually is more, much more. Nathaniel is utterly barbaric. His form is fatal and he's as fast as the crack of a whip, but there's no finesse in the way he draws his blades. No, Nathaniel is vicious. There's a savage glint in his eyes when he shears through titans' vital points. There's the promise of brutality in the way he catapults himself into action and a cutthroat vim behind every kill he makes.

He's bloodthirsty and it's beautiful, and he doesn't even notice it.

Lysander could watch him all day long.

.

Recovery leave isn't horrible. He's immensely thankful it's only for two weeks, but all the same it isn't horrible. Iris is still out of commission with a broken leg, and they share lunch together.

"I'm still embarrassed," she admits to him with a sheepish smile and her sea-green eyes lowered to a buttered roll on her plate. "I couldn't even make it one day outside of the Walls without getting grabbed by a titan."

"At least you didn't forget to refill your gas," Lysander offers without resentment.

"At least," Iris chirps, gaze lifting and surveying his sling. "But you shouldn't feel bad either, it's not like you're the first person who has ever done that."

"True. Also, we both returned alive. That's the best fortune anyone can ask for."

"I know it." Iris shudders. "For a minute there, I really didn't think I was going to...I still haven't properly thanked Captain Agatha."

"I said to call me 'Auntie,'" insists a familiar convivial voice, from right behind Lysander. He's so startled he nearly jumps in his seat and Iris lets out a squawk, but Agatha either doesn't notice this or doesn't care. She plops down next to Lysander and claps her hands together. "So how's it going, kiddies?"

"Pretty good," Iris answers with a chipper smile and Lysander nods his agreement. He's curious as to what she's doing here, however.

As if reading Lysander's mind, Agatha carries on. "The rest of your squad is with Bushido, do you two want to come see Kiki with me?"

For a second Lysander can't remember who Kiki is, but then recalls it's that titan they captured. "Alright."

"I think I'll pass this time," Iris answers sheepishly. "Melody's supposed to meet me here soon. She's so busy between strategizing and Castiel that I don't get to see much of her anymore. I have to take what I can get."

"Maybe next time then," says Agatha as she reaches over and pats her on the shoulder. Lysander dips his head in farewell and Agatha leads the way, practically skipping.

"Hello, Kiki," she chortles to the titan. It sits in a little square yard, immobilized so completely that Lysander could almost pity it.

It predictably doesn't respond to Agatha, so the squad leader bounces on up and boldly pokes its nose. In an instant its straining forward as much as it possibly can, lips peeling back as it snaps for her. Lysander gasps aloud, but Agatha deftly hops back, laughing joyously as she does.

"Aha! That was pretty close, wasn't it, Kiki? I could feel your breath right on my skin! And boy, does it reek. We should feed you a mint. Do you suppose he'd eat a mint, Lysander?" She tips her head back, peeking at him out of her peripheral and he can see a corner of her sparkling grin.

"Perhaps if you stuffed it in a human first." The _almost_ pity he could feel for Kiki is a pretty damn big _almost_.

Agatha giggles and then she turns to the tan freckled Garrison woman on standby, presumably for security purposes, though what she's holding in her hand isn't a weapon. It's a round, rubber sphere. "The ball, Peggy?"

Peggy nods and throws it to Agatha. The magenta-haired woman beams and hurls it at the titan. "Kiki, catch!"

The ball hits Kiki right in the cheek and it doesn't even bat an eye. The ball bounces off and Agatha catches it midair, giddy as ever. "Maybe this time!" And she chucks it at the titan again. This time when the ball hits its face, though Lysander's sure it's just a coincidence, Kiki makes a brainless noise in the back of its throat.

"Ah!" Agatha happily claps. "See? That's what we call progress!"

Lysander isn't sure if she's talking to him or the titan. It could very well be either. He wouldn't call this progress himself, but he would call it entertaining. He can't wait to tell Nathaniel about it.

.

"Do you want to spar?" asks Nathaniel, eyeing Lysander with that handsome half-grin of his.

"We just sparred yesterday," Lysander replies, minutely raises his brow. He still has the twinge in his unpracticed shoulder and bite marks on his thighs for reference.

"I guess we could skip that part then," Nathaniel breathes, leaning over and breaching the short gap between them.

"That part," Lysander reiterates with a chuckle and ducks his head. His tongue swipes an 'x' over a spot on Nathaniel's neck and he nibbles it gleefully.

.

After a year in the Survey Corps, Lysander faces his worst fear.

They're on a joint expedition with one of the Garrison regiments, scoping out the condition of Wall Tijie and the titans who clamber through the ruins within. There's been talk of reclaiming it for awhile now, and well, maybe they can. Lysander can't help feeling distracted. He's the closest to home (but its not, it's not home now, it probably isn't even there) he's been since the day the Wall was perforated. Leigh and Nathaniel are bothered too, but they're quiet about it like he's quiet about it.

There's no use crying over spilled blood.

So Lysander isn't going to cry about it. He isn't even going to see if there's anything left of it, he doesn't care to know. Seeing the remains of his house, if there even are any to be seen, isn't going to turn it into a home again. It isn't going to bring back his parents, or the rabbit hutch, or the apple tree he used to carve poems into. All its going to do is scratch the paint off his heart and reopen the hidden wounds.

They're here to observe, to explore, to draw conclusions. Lysander doesn't have to be limited to the area where his yellowed memories lay. When Agatha waves her hand and gives them leeway while she discusses plans with the Garrison's Faraize, Lysander lingers and glances around, unsure of where to go first.

"You wanna go that way?" Castiel asks him, pointing his blade over to where the square of the Cotton District used to be. "I wanna kill that titan that's humping the clock tower. It looks huge."

"Of all the titans here, leave it to you to point out that one," replies Lysander, weirdly amused. There is a fifteen meter class titan very clearly doing...Something that looks highly inappropriate to the building. Its definitely an abnormal. "Sure, let's go."

Castiel snickers and bolts into the air and Lysander takes off right after him. They encounter another titan scurrying by, its fingers outstretched and mouth gaping. Lysander hiss sharply as he bypasses its path, landing nimbly on the roof of a nearby building.

"I'll get it," Castiel announces as he swings around, just barely skirting out of the ambit of the titan's snapping jaws. Lysander swears Castiel does that for fun; getting as close to danger as possible before tearing away. He's never been injured, but that doesn't mean it irritates Lysander any less. He feels like throttling him for being so reckless just for the sake of thrills.

Castiel lacerates its nape and lands on the same roof, flicking the blood from his blade. "Damn. Dulled it already." He exchanges and they take off. The next titan that scrambles into their path is only three meters and can't possibly reach them, but Lysander slopes downward and slays it anyway. One less titan to deal with later.

"Ey, what do you think it gains from doing that?" Castiel mutters incredulously, indicating the abnormal titan that's still, ah, _engaging_ the clock tower. "It doesn't even have junk."

"I don't know why titans do anything," Lysander remarks, rereleasing his hooks precariously into the deteriorating building just before the tower. Castiel briefly does the same then charges forward, launching himself around the curve of the brick column. Lysander follows around the opposite way, sucking in a breath. He's pretty sure Castiel has this one — blade already flung back with an audible zing — but just in case, Lysander's poised to swoop in and strike.

Castiel manages to nick its neck before the titan revolves without warning, its head knocking back and sausage like arms flailing. Its cranium slams into Castiel and sends him straight to the ground. Lysander's clipped by the fingertips of one of it's waving hands and the force of just that lands him on his back on the roof. The titan sprints off, vocalizing animalistic babble and shaking its limbs out.

"Are you okay?" Lysander shouts down, pulling himself up and peering over the rim of a rusted gutter.

"Yeah," grunts Castiel as he stands up. He brushes himself off and pistons himself up to the roof, gear wires hissing softly. "I kinda underestimated it."

"We're obligated to kill it now," Lysander replies. "It's running wild."

It's cleared a hell of a distance in such a short stretch of time, even by titan standards. They resume pursuit just in time to see it bat someone into the air. A blonde someone and the only blonde person in their squad is Nathaniel. Adrenaline and gelid shock seize Lysander's chest harder than any titan could ever squeeze. He's helpless to do anything but watch as the love of his life bounces and skids on a broken building, ruby visibly spraying with each anarchic shingle upturned.

Lysander's already rushing over as fast as he can, a fearful squall jerked from his lips. Tunnel vision takes over, the surrounding world blurring and darkening until only the focal point of Nathaniel's motionless form remains. He's so scared and uncoordinated he barley makes it onto the roof in one piece. He ungraciously lands flat on his stomach, but scrambles up without thought, a mess of frigid vigor and raw terror.

"Nathaniel!" He's scrabbling over and not getting a response and—

"Calm down!" Castiel yanks him back by the shoulder and whirls him around, spitting the order between his teeth. Lysander is a millisecond away from snarling like a wolverine and punching him out; because no one, not even his best friend, has the right to wedge themselves between him and Nathaniel, and Nathaniel's _hurt_ and—

Castiel slaps him before he can swing. "You freaking out isn't going to help him! Get a hold of yourself before you do more harm than good!"

Lysander struggles, but maintains some sense of rationality as he tears free of Castiel's grasp and darts over to Nathaniel's side. He can't be calm right now, he can't be steady with the tears already falling and hands shaking as he stares at his limp and bloodied boyfriend, not breathing in enough air and choking on what his lungs do manage. Basic field work is all his rattled mind can compose; _don't move him something could be broken, stop bleeding, stop...There's so much of it to stop!_

Castiel steps over and crouches, removing his cloak and pressing it to the haphazard oozing gashes the shingles have ripped into Nathaniel's torso, pale pink meat exposed and glistening. Lysander follows suit and does the same for Nathaniel's minutely less damaged lower half, disgusted with himself for being so slow, but there's a thunderously quiet roar in his ears and his blood's stopped flowing and all he can think is _please don't die, please don't die, please don't die, please don't die, you can't die, you **have** to be okay!_

"I'm getting help." And with that, Castiel is gone and Lysander barely even notices because Nathaniel is still and bleeding and deathly quiet and this is the most petrifying thing that's happened since the Wall fell. He clings to Nathaniel's hand, but it's slack and awfully cold. The only sign of life his boyfriend exhibits is a shallow rising and falling of the chest and tiny little bubbles, infinitesimal pockets of air in the narrow rivulets of blood that stream from his nostrils.

"Nathaniel, please," he begs in a watery hiccup, clutching his flaccid hand as tightly as he can and staring despairingly at his closed lids and mentally pleading for them to open. "Be okay. Please be okay."

He's sobbing by the time Castiel arrives with Agatha and Faraize and a few other Garrison soldiers. A daunting eternity has passed by the time they get there and Lysander yields to being ushered aside, knowing there's nothing he can do to help and so ardently ashamed of this. They snip Nathaniel's harness, strip his clothes, stitch him up with urgent voices and use the remains of his clothes for bandages when they run out of the supply they brought. Nathaniel doesn't come around fully, but he makes semiconscious whimpers and groans that kindle a flare of hope in Lysander's chest even though it grieves him to know Nathaniel's in pain.

Another eternity passes with Lysander kneeling in needles and then that's it, they've done all they can do, they're dumping him in the back of a cart and just waiting. If Nathaniel gets up, he should be in the clear, and if he doesn't, then he doesn't and there's nothing else. Boulders pummel Lysander's insides and crush them into putty. He sits with Nathaniel. The expedition is not over and they aren't leaving yet, and he should be helping but he's not because he's selfish.

He's selfish because he should be helping instead of sidelined by injuries that aren't his, and he's _not_ selfish because he _is_ injured, the wounds are just of the invisible variety. He can't do anything properly when he knows Nathaniel is like this, Nathaniel has all his attention whether that's warranted or not, and he'll be useless trying to complete a task he knows he can't focus on. He can't focus on anything but Nathaniel and just silently begging that he'll be okay.

Lysander buries his face in his hands and cries. He's terrified down to his trembling core. He peeks through the cracks in his fingers to steal glances at a terribly pale and listless Nathaniel and cries until his throat is gummy and his swollen eyes sting like someone sprinkled sand in them. The cart is creaking with motion at this point, rolling on home with the rest of the expedition, and Lysander's heart is throbbing with the prayer that this won't be Nathaniel's last expedition.

There's a delicate touch like the brush of a cat's tail against his cheek. Lysander abruptly raises his head and turns into the touch, beyond relieved to discover it's Nathaniel's hand. Making a little hiccupy noise, he folds his cold fingers over Nathaniel's preciously warm hand and keeps it pressed to his cheek. He needs it there, he needs to feel the subtle pulse in his veins, he needs to feel his life, he needs his touch.

"You had me scared to death," he chokes out and then he's crying again, clutching Nathaniel's hand tighter as unbidden teardrops stream down. "I thought you were _gone_..."

"M'sorry," Nathaniel croaks faintly.

Lysander quickly shakes his head and lowers Nathaniel's hand for a moment just to kiss it, before he presses it back to his cheek. "No. No 'sorrys.' You're here, and that's enough. You're _here._"

"Sunset's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes it is." Lysander's still crying, but now he's smiling a beaming smile through the torrent of tears, because Nathaniel is right. It's the most beautiful sunset he's ever seen because Nathaniel is here to see it. The clouds could be as gray as ash and acid rain could be showering down in tides, and it would still be the most beautiful weather right now because Nathaniel is here to see it.

.

Lysander takes a week off. Nathaniel's going to be out of action for two months and the least he can do is spend a week with him. Nathaniel repeatedly assures him this isn't necessary, but Lysander feels like it is. This is the closest he's come to losing Nathaniel and...He's just...He just needs to be with him right now. Nathaniel's _here_ and Lysander has to remind himself that he's _here_.

"I should cut my hair," Nathaniel murmurs at one point during this week, when they're lounging comfortably. He's using Lysander's stomach as a pillow and Lysander happily slips his fingers in between Nathaniel's.

"You think so?" Lysander tilts his head.

"Don't you? It's brushing over my collar now."

"I find it attractive," Lysander blurts honestly.

Bright pink crosses Nathaniel's cheeks. "Really?"

"Really," Lysander hums.

"I was going to wait until my wrist felt better to cut it, but if you like it at this length..." The pink gradually gets brighter.

"I like it at your usual length too," Lysander purrs, mildly amused. "It's your hair, keep it at whatever length you're comfortable with. If it's your just your wrist that's keeping you from trimming it, I'd be happy to do it for you."

Nathaniel offers a fond, endearing smile. "You're the best, you know that, right?"

"I could stand to hear it more often," jokes Lysander.

Nathaniel playfully rolls his eyes and cranes his neck to plant a kiss above Lysander's navel for no reason at all.

.

Lysander isn't going to make it out of this alive.

None of them are going to make it out of this alive. They're enmeshed in one throng of titans already and a horde is gaining on them. They're in the flatlands and there's no place to use the gear, no anchors except for titans themselves. Kim is managing it this way, springing from titan to titan and cutting them down. She's always been the best, but even she can't keep up with the sheer number of them and she's slowing down. The horses are slowing down too.

This is really it. This is where it ends. _I'm sorry, Nathaniel_, he thinks irresistibly. _I'm really sorry. _

Lysander's spent his life as aiming for optimism and this has mostly worked out, but right now is one of those times where you have to be realistic. The most optimistic thing any of them can do now is hope for a quick death.

He looks around, searching for Leigh and Rosalya in the midst of the end. They're here somewhere and he's not going to die without saying goodbye to them; they're at least here for that. He glances over to Castiel who is riding beside him with an unusually quiet air, pale in the face. At one point everyone realizes it's the end, even stubborn people like him.

But stubborn or not, he's Castiel and Lysander loves him just the same as he loves Leigh. He gets the first farewell before Lysander breaks formation to find the latter. "You know, I—"

"Save it," Castiel snaps, charcoal glower fixing on Lysander, accusatory. He knows very well what he was starting to say. Apparently he hasn't accepted the end after all. "Look, I'm going to do something I'm probably going to regret. Take care of Demon for me, will ya?" Castiel affectionately pats the sheeny black neck of his horse.

"What? What are you talking about?" Lysander's face screws up in confusion. What could Castiel possibly do that he'll regret now? They're all going to die, Lysander's not going to be here to take care of Demon.

"This." Castiel tugs Demon to a stop and swiftly swings himself out of the saddle. He sends the horse off with a pat on the hindquarter and then he just starts running for the horde of titans.

"What the hell is that idiot doing!?" Kim gasps raggedly from somewhere just above, Lysander doesn't know exactly where because he's wide-eyed and gaping at his enthusiastically suicidal friend. Just as one of the titans swipes for Castiel, an astoundingly tall titan with familiar sable hair replaces him. It grabs the smaller titan and literally rips its head off of its shoulders, hurling its body into the thick of them and knocking down another three as its disintegrating head falls to the ground.

"Holy shit," exclaims Lysander in astonishment. Now, Lysander was not one for cursing. He found it distasteful and though his parents were simple people, they were still classy ones and he was not raised to spew vulgar language. But Castiel is a_ titan shifter_. Holy shit. Holy shit indeed. It's crazy and incredible to watch at the same time. This — This_ titan_ is viciously biting open the napes of the mindless ones' necks, picking them up and chucking them back with barely a pause in between.

As for the mindless ones, well, they're fighting back. If one could call it fighting, it's not really, they're just eating like they always do except for the very first time Lysander's seen, they're not eating humans, they're eating off of this titan that also happens to be Castiel. This is truly the most bizarre thing Lysander has ever witnessed and he can scarcely register what's happening, but damn, it's happening.

It's almost like watching ants on a centipede, except titans aren't nearly as intelligent as ants are, not intelligent enough to use their numbers to their advantage, and with that godsend Castiel isn't getting overwhelmed. He rips them off and bites them to death, bowling their sizzling carcasses into the ones that still pursue until they're slowed down and the numbers are thinning out.

When Lysander finally overcomes the anesthetized shock, it occurs to him to go back and help, but now there's no reason to. The last of the horde finds its demise at the snap of Castiel's jaws. This is some kind of dream, right!? Some kind of outlandish dream caused by eating stale bread!?

It isn't. Agatha's streaking past him in a blur of magenta and evergreen and Lysander whips around and follows her because he suddenly has this horrible feeling in his stomach. But Agatha is as rapid as a flash of lightning, in mere moments her wires are unleashed and she's jetting toward the back of the neck of the only titan Lysander could ever care about, sun shining on her silver blade.

"Stop!" is all Lysander can get out, tongue numb, pulse racing.

"I'm going to hurt him," Agatha declares as she scores the blade across her target. "This is protocol!" She fiercely yanks the human Castiel out of his titan's body, tissue audibly severing like a wetter version of tearing cloth.

_There's protocol for this!? _

She tosses him over her shoulder and hops back as the massive titan's body falls dissipating. She lands in a crouch and simply shrugs Castiel off, and Lysander's automatically off Eris and rolling him over before any other coherent thoughts about this can cross his mind. Touching Castiel is sweltering, like touching a freshly smoked salmon but Lysander doesn't care at all and cradles him, staring stupefied at the exotic webbing of flesh around his eyes.

"Hey," Castiel mumbles, eyes half-opened.

"You...The entire time...?"

"Uh-huh. M'not evil. I swear."

"Of course you're not." Lysander exhales slowly, gaze softening.

Castiel's lips twitch up in a fleeting smile and then he looks to Agatha, eyes wary. Lysander can feel him stiffen slightly and holds him tighter, defensively, as he also looks to her.

The squad leader stands with her lips pursed, unsettlingly serious in comparison to her normal giggly disposition. She drops back to a crouch and removes a waterskin from under her jacket, holding it to Castiel.

"Drink. It's just water, not some shifter killing poison." She spares him a tiny, weak smile.

He takes it with fatigued, clumsy fingers and Lysander helps him sit up a little more as he quenches his thirst, stray droplets rolling down the corners of his mouth. He still feels so hot Lysander's surprised they don't evaporate.

"Restraining you is protocol," Agatha carries on when he's done. "Can you stand up?"

"Of course it's fucking protocol." Castiel bears his teeth in a humorless grin. "I could've ran, you know. Taken off toward the woods and let the rest of you get eaten. Maybe I should've."

(but Lysander knows he doesn't mean it)

An almost motherly, reproachful look contorts Agatha's features. "Castiel, I am aware and I can honestly say I trust you, but I have to follow procedure. Things will be more favorable for the both of us that way. So I ask again, can you stand up?"

He says he can, but Lysander helps him up anyway and Agatha cuffs and gags him like he's some kind of criminal and as much as it disgusts Lysander and makes his stomach churn, he can't really resent her for doing something she's ordered to do. The way back is execrable. A tide of fresh shock comes over him as he reregisters everything that's going on, and it still hasn't abated by the time he's shuffled through the gate and greeted with an obviously worried Nathaniel.

"Lysander? What happened? Are Leigh and Rosa okay?"

Lysander's relieved to see him, after everything that's happened today, including spending a good portion of time regretting how he was never going to see him again, now he is and it's satiating. But he can't focus on that right now, can't focus on that at all when what's happening is happening. "They're fine. Things took a turn for the worse out there, Nathaniel. There were so many titans...So many, but they're both fine. It's not them...I..." He shakes his head, unable to get it out.

Kim gets it out for him, and when both she and Nathaniel are both viciously suspicious he almost wishes she wouldn't have. How can they be so distrustful when they've known Castiel for years!? How can they just jump to the conclusion that he's a traitor when there's not even the slightest bit of evidence!? It's ludicrous!

But as frustrated as he is with them, it's nothing compared to the searing fury that rages through him when the Commander puts Castiel on display and treats him like a monster that she'd like to put down and discard. Lysander doesn't care at all that he isn't supposed to break out of the crowd, he does so anyway and races over when Castiel tumbles out of his titan's body for the second time today, sloping to the pavement.

Lysander doesn't make it over in time to catch him, but he scoops him up and brings him close, arms forming a protective cage. "Are you alright?"

"She's gonna fucking kill me," Castiel mutters bleakly, curling into Lysander's protective hold and shaking his head. The blows from the brick have already healed. "I should've taken off, soon as I killed those titans. I should've just ran..." He closes his eyes, head sagging against Lysander's chest.

"She's not going to kill you," Lysander promises firmly. "I'd sooner let the Wall fall."

"Just take care of Demon for me. Tell Melody I'm sorry."

"Stop that, the Commander isn't going to kill you. You're going to be fine." And Lysander has no idea how he's going to make sure that's fact, but he _is_ sure he's going to.

She calls for an arrest instead of execution on the spot and that's enough for Lysander to sigh a breath of relief and for Castiel to perk up a little, cautiously hopeful. It hurts to hand him over, but the best thing they can to to win her favor is cooperate, so Lysander cooperates.

.

Lysander loves Nathaniel to death, but he's being so fucking ridiculous that Lysander wants to strangle him. Castiel isn't dangerous...Well okay, he is dangerous, but he isn't dangerous to humans. Prickly and unsociable, admittedly, difficult, okay, but he wouldn't hurt anyone.

Castiel doesn't have any agenda, and Nathaniel is a one-track-minded conspiracy theorist. Lysander is immensely disappointed in him, so much it pains him deep in the bones, but he isn't going to waste any more time trying to convince him he's wrong. Instead, he's going to put his efforts into securing Castiel's head off the chopping block and getting him out of prison.

Naturally, he goes to Agatha first.

"If it were up to me," Agatha tells him. "I would set him free. I'd obviously restrict that freedom, but the shifters of the past turned on humans when they were exposed. He could be a valuable asset. He killed over twenty titans out there all on his own, not to mention the experiments we could conduct with him..." She trails off with a low, despondent sigh. "But it is the Commander's decision and the Commander's alone. I'm sorry."

When that fails, he goes to Melody. He doesn't know her all that well, but she's been Castiel's girlfriend of a sort for awhile now. She's bound to want to do something, and Lysander knows her well enough to know she's quite clever. She's worked on several successful formation strategies and proposed two distinct suggestions on how to maximize gas efficiently.

Going to her proves to be futile and harrowing.

"I don't know what to think," Melody gasps, tears beading in the corners of her cerulean eyes. "I care about him, Lysander, but he lied to me. He lied and I can't...I can't defend him because I don't know why. And I trust the Commander— I _can_ trust the Commander." Her breath hitches, hair bouncing against her shoulders as she sharply straightens her back, hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry, I have to go!" She spins on her heel and runs off, leaving Lysander in her dust.

He sighs heavily and rubs a hand over his face. He's just going to have to talk to the Commander himself.

He achieves this with some difficulty and a good word from Agatha, and marches into her office with a dignified stride and a humble salute. "Commander."

"You may sit." She dips her head in approval.

He sits in a wicker chair before her desk. "I respectfully propose that you release the titan shifter." He's cutting right to the chase, she's a busy woman and he's a busy solider, and any time Castiel spends rigged to the wall of a cell is too much time.

"You're its friend." She is as cold and impassive as a rock.

Lysander tries not to wince at the word 'it.' He admits his bias, pushes it aside, explains his case. It's all he can do. The Commander listens, seems to be taking him seriously. It isn't very reassuring, but nothing's reassuring when you know your best friend is chained up in a box. She gives him no definite answer on the subject when she dismisses him, but Lysander feels somewhat less anxious, given that she doesn't seem overtly determined to kill Castiel.

She doesn't seem overtly determined to release him, either, but she doesn't seem overtly anything. Lysander isn't satisfied of course, but he made her hear him out and that's all he can do at the moment.

Lysander is so tense and conflicted, mulling everything over late into the night, that he doesn't notice Nathaniel isn't there. When he does notice, he worries. But when Nathaniel finally does return, he just quietly sticks to his own side of the mattress and doesn't mention it or ask where he's been. Perhaps he was just gone to avoid Lysander. They're still at odds for the time being.

.

The very next day the Commander collectedly announces,

"The titan shifter taken into custody two days ago has been killed. We're studying its remains."

Then she withdraws just like that and Lysander can't even catch his breath. He feels like someone just punched him in the stomach. He feels vitreous and sickly weightless. He cracks right open and denial spills out.

'She's gonna fucking kill me,' Castiel had said.

'You're going to be fine,' is the last thing Lysander told him.

_You're going to be fine. _

He's not fine. He's dead. She killed him.

'Take care of Demon for me.'

_She killed him. _

'Tell Melody I'm sorry.'

_He's dead. _

'I'd sooner let the Wall fall.'

_I lied to him. _

Everything sinks in and Lysander absently excuses himself, sobs razing his throat as his heart breaks with every beat. Castiel's dead and Lysander didn't save him, and it's like he never even_ really_ thought it could happen. Lysander was worried, worried, but he always had the inkling in the back of his mind that things were going to turn out okay, he didn't _really_ think she was going to kill him. Death is what he expects in this world, he expects death from everyone, even himself, but not like this!

Friends get eaten by titans, they don't get put down by their own comrades!

He's been fighting them for so long that he's forgotten what he knew as an orphaned child; he's forgotten that humans can be the enemy too, and he's remembered too late because Castiel is dead. Reality fractures and thrusts its weight upon him all at once, and Lysander can't even tell up from down as he puts his face in his hands and yields to grieving.

It isn't very long before Nathaniel's there and quietly embracing him, and Lysander grasps on tight, clinging to the only sense of stability he has right now. But even as he enfolds into Nathaniel and muffles his sobs, he doesn't forgive him. Nathaniel wanted this to happen, and that's something Lysander can't forgive.

"I'm sorry."

But he's not, he's not sorry, Lysander is the only thing that's keeping him from fucking celebrating, probably. He pauses and exhales a very long sigh, shaky breath moist with tears.

"Don't say things you don't mean, Nathaniel," he states tautly. "Not to me."

"I mean it. I'm sorry about anything that hurts you."

For a second, Lysander almost accuses him of lying. But he's just so tired of fighting, he's hurting and his best friend is dead, and driving Nathaniel away isn't going to change any of that one way or another. At any rate, this might not be a complete untruth. Lysander is sorry for anything that hurts Nathaniel too, for the good or the ill.

He nods, uncurls his fingers from the material of Nathaniel's jacket, and lets his arms fall flat, simply leaning in and resting his head on Nathaniel's shoulder. Mourning is exhausting and it does absolutely nothing to ease the yawning void inside.

.

"I borrowed another one of Louis's books," Lysander murmurs, face upturned to the night sky, but eyes peeking at Nathaniel from the corners.

"What about?"

"Constellations."

Nathaniel tilts his head and blinks at Lysander inquisitively. "Constellations?"

"Patterns that certain stars make. They have fascinating stories attached to them." Lysander smiles fondly and flops on his back on the grass, one arm crooked behind his head to serve as a pillow as he points with the other. He waves his finger, mentally connecting the brilliant dots until they form a shape. "That one for instance, is Scorpius."

"Oh." Nathaniel studies the cluster with subtle awe and drops to the grass as well, head resting on Lysander's chest. "What's the story behind that one?"

"A boastful hunter incensed a goddess, so she sent a scorpion — which is actually a venomous arthropod that exists beyond the Walls, I'll show you a picture of one later — to kill him. It did, so the goddess and another god put the scorpion in the sky to honor it. To honor it, and to serve as a reminder to mortals to keep their pride in check." Lysander lowers his hand and languidly runs his fingers through Nathaniel's hair.

"Wow," Nathaniel breathes a laugh, smile glittering in amusement. "Show me another one."

"That one's Aquarius." Lysander points it out with a curving gesture. "It's one of the oldest constellations there is...Though to be honest, I don't recall the story behind it. I'm sorry, you know my memory isn't the best..." A blush scorches his cheeks.

"That's alright." Nathaniel chuckles and takes his hand with an unprompted affection, tangling their fingers together.

.

Lysander gags as he's submerged in the copious, malodorous fluid that spilled fourth in a flood from the titan's gut. It's as warm as fresh blood and grotesquely thick, but even as it seeps into his clothes and wells up his nostrils, the only thing he can think about is Leigh. He jumps to his feet and swipes the slippery filth from his face, eyes wild as they frantically search for his brother. His suddenly insane, deluded brother, who decided to slice open a titan's paunch.

They land on him, paddling through the revolting liquid with a face as traumatized as Lysander feels. The titan is reaching for Leigh again, just as Leigh finds what, no, _who_ he's been fishing for; the titan ate Rosalya and the realization is so harsh that Lysander stumbles, stumbles and only then realizes that he's been running toward Leigh ever since he got to his feet.

Nathaniel shears the titan's neck, killing it when the tips of its fingers were so, so close that Lysander suspects they might've even grazed Leigh. He quakes with relief as he skids to a stop before his brother, sending up a spray of the viscous beet solution. The relief evaporates upon the sight of how limp Rosalya's glossed body is.

Leigh pulls her onto his lap and scrubs her face clear of the watery gunk with his sleeve. The world pauses for a nerve-racking half-moment that feels more like a century. Then she coughs aloud, eyelids fluttering and Lysander heaves an unsteady breath.

Nathaniel catches up, eyes wide.

"It — It swallowed her whole. It didn't chew, so I thought she might be okay if I could just get her out in time," Leigh's rambling on, shaking and hyperventilating even though the leap of faith he took paid off. Painfully rattled, he looks wildly from Lysander to Nathaniel and back to Rosalya. "You are okay, aren't you Rosa?"

"I need a bath," she murmurs dizzily, blinking as if she can barely comprehend what just happened.

"Thanks for killing it," Lysander breathes, turning to Nathaniel and embarrassed about his lapse in composure. "I should've helped, I'm sorry, I just—"

"Don't worry about it," Nathaniel interrupts, clapping him on the shoulder. He has a strange look when he says it, forlorn practically, and Lysander can't quite pinpoint what's behind it.

He doesn't ask. There's no time, they've got to get off the ground and get help for Rosalya. She may be somewhat alert, but she's still burned badly enough to be concerned about.

.

Armin dies crying and stammering. The female-shaped titan scoops him up right off his horse and crams him into its mouth. Lysander can't do anything to help him, he's too far ahead. Armin doesn't scream, just stutters shocked gibberish, bits and pieces of something he can't finish as the tears river from his eyes and the titan's pearly teeth clamp down. The last thing he does is reach for his screeching/sobbing twin, and his outstretched arm falls from its lips, intact from the elbow down.

"Alexy, don't!" Violette shouts out to the blue-haired teen, knuckles as white as paper on her horse's reins. Alexy's already dismounted and running back toward the titan on foot.

He makes it to the bloodied limb that's left of his brother before the titan makes a swipe at him, actually managing to salvage it in all his wailing victory. Lysander is horrified, it's not worth it, going back for a measly body part isn't worth dying over, Alexy should surely know that; just what the hell does Louis teach his squad!?

Lysander stares over his shoulder, jaw set firm. He hates leaving anyone behind to suffer, but it was Alexy's choice to go back and Lysander can't turn around take that risk. It may seem cold but it's not, he just has too much to lose.

Kim, however, does go back for him. "Moron!" she berates as she flings herself out of her saddle, hooks fired and blade swung out. It's the last word she ever utters. The titan wrests her out of the air and snaps her head off. Her apricot-orange scarf flutters to the ground and her arms fall like weights, blade slipping from her slack fingers. The titan then pops her into its mouth and gorges.

Violette's piercing shriek punctuates her end. The next intake of air Lysander breathes feels like sucking in razors, and he forces himself to turn around and just keep riding for the woods. If he stopped to mourn every single death that marks the reality of the Survey Corps(es), he would go insane with grief.

"Keep moving," he hollers back to Violette and Alexy, who has somehow recovered his mount. "Just keep moving forward!" Because they're rattled and they need a push, but if they still fall behind, well, then he can only help them as much as he helped Armin and Kim.

Despite everything, Lysander is incredibly comforted by the fact that Nathaniel is in front of him, ahead of the threat posed from behind and a few lengths closer to the better chances the forest provides.

He knows it's a selfish comfort. But there isn't room to care about something as trivial as that.

.

"Will you marry me?" Lysander feels terrible, and terrible is an understatement. His sweat is cold and slick, causing his clothes to stick to his skin. His throat is drier than the deserts he's never seen and there's a deep, stabbing pain in his lungs that grows sharper with each cough. But Nathaniel's here, a ray of sunshine in a bleak situation just like he always is. And Lysander loves him, he loves him so much he can hardly bear it, and they should just get married already.

Nathaniel splutters, blushing tomato-red and choking on his own breath. "L-Lysander..."

Aww. He's positively adorable when he's flustered. Lysander's smile broadens, the sight of Nathaniel like this a balm to his illness.

"I've thought about it before, us getting married. I'd love to see you in a suit. Especially from behind—"

"Lysander!" Nathaniel blushes so hard he's almost an unnatural shade and covers his face with his hands.

Really though, Lysander feels like he doesn't compliment Nathaniel's ass enough. Maybe Nathaniel wouldn't be so shy about it if he did? He really should. He was raised to be tasteful and refined, traits he carries himself with gladly, but maybe he should be a little more lax in this particular regard. Because Nathaniel has a great ass, it's nice and supple like a halved peach. Firm. Thinking about it makes him want to touch it, but now is hardly the time.

"No," Nathaniel tells him with a sad little smile, taking Lysander's hand in both of his and holding it fondly. "I'm sorry, but we can't get married. We're too busy to get married."

Rejection hurts. But it's just the proposal Nathaniel's rejection, it's not him, he still loves Lysander and Lysander knows he has a point.

"I suppose you're right," Lysander sighs out. "But maybe we can when all the titans are gone..." He truly believes that it'll happen someday. It has to, right?

"Maybe we can," Nathaniel agrees and tenderly kisses his flushed cheek.

Lysander closes his eyes, trying and failing to stifle another cough. Nathaniel helps him sit and pushes the rim of a glass of water to his lips, gently tipping it. Lysander drinks gratefully and mumbles a thanks as Nathaniel eases him back down again, his mouth in a worried line.

"I'm okay," he promises him with a hoarse voice he knows can't be all that convincing.

"Mm."

"Really."

Nathaniel climbs into bed with Lysander and puts an arm over his waist, nestling in close.

"I'm contagious..." He would've pulled away, but he frankly didn't have the energy.

"I don't care. You're _here_."

And Lysander remembers feeling the same way, so he doesn't fight Nathaniel on this.

.

The attempt to reclaim Wall Tijie is a catastrophic failure. For two days straight they try so hard, so, so hard, everyone gives their everything and it still isn't enough. All the effort and sweat put into it is for nothing, the massive death toll is for nothing, once again blood has been spilled without any progress to show for it. Deaths in vain, lives down the drain, all a big waste.

Nathaniel's one of them, another casualty in an ocean of casualties (the only kind of ocean Lysander has ever known), another statistic. He doesn't find out until he's returned to the Amoris District, anxious, but not pulling his hair out because there are a lot of people everywhere and it makes sense that Lysander wouldn't find him right away.

"Nathaniel's dead," Violette tells him bluntly when she catches up with him, empathy in her ash-gray eyes but a hard chip on her shoulder and a steadiness in her voice that were never there when Kim was alive. "It happened when we were dispatched to the Cotton District. I'm sorry."

...

"Did he suffer?" Lysander asks in a nonchalant, placid voice, as smooth as buttermilk.

Except he's not really asking. Because he isn't hearing this.

_No._

He's not hearing this at all.

_This **isn't** happening. _

"Yeah," states Violette. The one who was here before Kim got killed would've spared him this knowledge, most likely, if she would've been able to spit out what happened at all. "It devoured him in pieces. He would've been screaming, if he could have. It broke him before he could."

"I see." He's still relaxed. There's no reason not to be relaxed because everything's fine. Violette's mistaken, but Lysander isn't going to correct her right now because it's been a very long two days and she's exhausted, he's exhausted. Everyone's exhausted, Nathaniel's bound to be too. As soon as Lysander locates him, he's dragging him off to bed.

Violette doesn't ask if he's okay because Violette's been through this before and she knows he's not okay. He probably won't be okay for awhile. She still isn't. She pulls Kim's scarf up over her mouth and inhales quietly, turning on her worn heels that rub against open blisters and leaving.

Lysander heads in the opposite direction.

_She's wrong. She's wrong. She's wrong. She made a mistake. This is a misunderstanding, a miscommunication, it was someone else, this isn't happening. _

_This isn't happening. _

_This isn't happening. _

_This. Isn't. Happening. _

_This. **Isn't.** Happening._

He collapses in the street, breaths leaving him in erratic, choppy wheezes as some unseen force vacuums the air out. He grabs at his chest, fingers twitching and balling up the material of his shirt over his heart, but it's too late, the organ's already been speared clean through. It'll stop beating soon, it has to stop beating soon because it's taken so much damage already and this is finally the devastating blow.

Nathaniel is dead.

Lysander sinks until his forehead scrapes the cobblestone, low as he can go. If the ground won't open up and let what remains of him fall through (he's not whole anymore, not without Nathaniel) maybe he'll just get trampled to death like his dear old parents. If nobody tramples him, he's still going to expire because his heart is failing and his seams have come loose. There are cavities in the places Nathaniel used to be and they're swallowing up his insides. If Lysander was a titan, then Nathaniel would be the nape of his neck.

Sobs rack his spine so hard the rungs must unhinge. The whole world has shattered and impaled Lysander with all the shards, immobilizing. Nathaniel's gone, he's _gone_, and as if that wasn't cruel enough, he's gone for _nothing_. He whimpers his anguish into the street for an indeterminable amount of time, tasting dust and dirt and death, before Rosalya's gentle hand is on his shoulder.

"Lys-Baby? Are you hurt?"

He barely feels her there. He shakes his head, more ragged sobs leaking past his cracked lips. This is beyond hurt. He's broken, irreparable. Eventually she gets Leigh too and they pick him up and drag off to his bed, his empty, empty, bed, terrifyingly large and frigid without Nathaniel. He can't even spit out what happened, he can't string sentences together in the face of his own personal apocalypse, but they know anyway. Whether someone told them, or they just figured it out, they know.

At some point Lysander sobs himself to sleep. It couldn't possibly get worse, but it does, because when he wakes up in the morning and Nathaniel isn't next to him, he's suddenly faced with the fact that this is what it's going to be like every morning from now on and he can't bear it.

.

Lysander never gets over it. He never ever gets over it, but he does get on with it, because the world doesn't stop just because his heart does and there's still a job to do. He lets his hair grow out a little longer, more evenly, and stops dying his bangs.

By the time he's twenty-three killing titans is the only thing that matters anymore because he's lost everyone else. His parents have been dead for twelve years, Castiel's been dead for six, Nathaniel's been dead for four, Leigh for two, Rosa for nine months. There's nothing anymore, nothing except fighting titans, that's all he has. Anything else that could've been is naught and he can't waste time thinking about it because there are other things to do.

Though he does waste some time with Agatha, celebrating her rank up. The Commander's been killed and she's taking her position. Lysander will drink to that. He does so, clinking mugs with Agatha and embracing the fog alcohol brings as much as his jaded, hardened self can embrace anything.

"I'm going to miss her," Agatha admits, despondently lowering her head onto the tabletop.

"I never forgave her for what she did to Castiel," Lysander replies, coarsely accustomed.

"You know...I probably shouldn't tell you this, but it wasn't The Commander that killed him." She lifts her glassy eyes and trains them hard on Lysander's, earnest. "She was going to release him under my supervision, but he was found dead in his cell. She just let everyone think she did it to maintain order and keep the investigation discreet. Never did uncover who did it, but you were the prime suspect for awhile."

This news after all this time, such shocking revelations should bombard Lysander. He should be overcome, confused, stupefied. He's not. It's not that he suspected this, no, he never would've thought, but it just...It just doesn't _matter_ anymore. Killing titans is what matters. That's all. Look at it up, down, left, right, sideways. This information means nothing, it can't change anything that's already happened.

"I was the only person who came to his defense," is Lysander's bleak response.

Agatha shrugs. "There's no point in getting into the ins and outs right now."

Lysander agrees. Nonetheless, he can't help mentally replaying a clip of that night, that night when Nathaniel was so late he got worried. He never did find out where he went, and the next day—

Lysander's always had a shitty memory. A very shitty memory.

(it isn't selective, but with a bit more alcohol, it can be)

.

Killing titans isn't the only thing that matters anymore. Lysander's been promoted and he's assigned his own squad. He cares about them, despite himself. They matter to him. They're going to die ugly, brutal deaths inside the mouths of brainless beasts and he's going to lead them to it, but they chose this. They chose this like he chose this all those years ago, and he loves them for it.

Their third expedition is Lysander's last expedition with them, and his last expedition overall. He's snagged by an abnormal titan that hurls him to the ground, steps on him, and spider-crawls away on all fours.

_Why do they call it spider crawling?_ Lysander asks himself through a searing pain that mercilessly riddles his upper body, pulsing where his bones have splintered and scalding beneath the skin. He can't feel it from the waist down because he's been paralyzed, and for that, he's almost thankful.

_Spiders have eight legs. _

"Captain?" Nina turns her horse around, staring at him with round, unnerved silver orbs. Her hands tremble as she reaches for his crooked mess of a body, nervously pulling back again, though she couldn't have reached him away.

Lysander sits, pushing himself up with his palms and grinding his teeth against the stars that interrupt his vision. "You have to go back, Nina," he orders her pointedly. "Go join the others, listen to what Kentin tells you."

"N-No! I mean, I can't leave you!" she squawks, startled.

"I wasn't asking," Lysander tells her cooly. "Regroup."

She loses their staring contest and bolts, tears in her eyes. Now Lysander relaxes as much as someone in his position could relax. There are three things he could do right now. The first, wait for his internal injuries to kill him. The second, wait for a titan to come along and eat him. The third, go quickly. These are all grim, unpleasant options, but given that the former two will undoubtedly be longer and cause him more pain and distress than he's already in, just to reach the same conclusion of falling into death's hand, he's inclined to choose the third.

There's a reason he's carried a revolver on his belt since he's been promoted. It's this reason. His fingers are aching and tingle with needles, but he manages to take it off anyway. It feels too heavy in his hands, much heavier than it used to be, but he can still hold it long enough to get the job done. He pushes the muzzle of the gun under his chin, shivering at the sudden cold. His finger curls lightly over the trigger, roughly applying as much pressure as a feather.

_Are you waiting for me, Nathaniel? _

A titan in the distance spots him and hurries its pace, tongue flopping out of its mouth.

He pulls the trigger.

.

.

.

"Excuse me?" Lysander inquires politely, eyes on this person he's been told is president of the student council.

The guy looks up from his clipboard and looks Lysander over with some of the most wonderful golden eyes he's ever seen.

"Yes?"

"I hate to bother you, but have you seen a notebook laying around? I seem to have misplaced mine." This is honestly the third time he's lost it this week, but if he can ask without admitting that, then he will.

"I haven't. Sorry, Lysander."

"Wait...Have we met?" Lysander doesn't recall. He's never had a great memory, he feels bad now because for the life of him, he can't remember this guy's name.

"I don't think?" The guy blinks dubiously.

"You just addressed me by name..." Lysander prompts, bemused.

He knows he wasn't just hearing things. His memory isn't great, but his ears are fine.

"Oh, right." The guy offers an apologetic smile. "Your name was on one of the principal's bulletins, with your picture. Since you're new here, and all."

"Ah, that makes sense." Lysander politely dips his head in farewell and walks away.

If this were a mishap with anyone else, Lysander would've properly introduced himself and gotten the guy's name. But he has this odd feeling, this very strange and somehow beautiful feeling, that if he lets it go and doesn't think about it too hard, he'll remember this guy's name all on his own.

Remember from where, he's not sure. But he _is_ sure that he _will_ remember it. It's strange, isn't it?

* * *

**What the fuck. This is the longest thing I've posted on this website. Bleh...Just wasted some more hours of my life. This is probably full of typos. I'll get to 'em late, I got requests to work on. e_e' **

**I didn't try rolling in toothpaste, but I'm sure I'd still be mediocre so I'm not going to exert the effort. **


End file.
